Dragon Age: The Hunt
by Shadow of Light
Summary: The Blight has ended, the Archdemon slain, but the Hero of Ferelden does not yet mean to rest. Alistair fled Denerim before the siege and she intends to track him down. Either he will return with her, or she will burn that bridge forever.
1. Picking up the Trail

Denerim's docks were crowded. This was in no small part due to the Hero of Ferelden being in the area, for many people had followed from the palace to gawk or speculate where she was going next. The Grey Warden Asleena Cousland had asked nothing of Queen Anora at the celebration earlier that day, saying only she would travel for a time. She had not elaborated on where to. Even her brother's invitation to return home to Highever had been declined for the time being.

Zevran Arainai suspected Asleena's plans, but had said nothing until this point. Now he crouched beside their only other companion, Asleena's mabari warhound, pulled the leather glove from his right hand and proffered a scrap of dried meat.

"I don't usually resort to bribing animals for information," the elf confided as Ferrix snuffed eagerly after the treat, "but answer a few questions for me and there's more where this came from." To prove his point, he uncurled his fingers and allowed the dog to lick the beef strip up. Almost instantly, another morsel was being displayed in his left hand.

Ferrix sat back on his haunches and looked at Zevran attentively, ears perked.

"You, my canine companion, have known our fair Warden here longer than anyone," he went on, slanting a glance in Asleena's direction. She wasn't looking at them, but he was certain she was listening. "I am curious if she's confided to you where we're going." When the dog cocked his head and whined a little, Zevran raised his brows. "No? Nor I. Perhaps she intends a luxury cruise? I certainly wouldn't object, although Denerim seems quite short of pleasure boats. Also, the smell of rotting fish and roasting darkspawn isn't very appealing. Now, if we went to Antiva—"

"—we'd be dodging assassins in between massages," Asleena interrupted.

"That would just keep things exciting." He smiled as the young woman finally glanced over, then tossed the meat piece to Ferrix and stood. "But that is not what you intend."

"No," she agreed, turning her green eyes back to the docks. "I'm going after Alistair." She seemed to hesitate, then said, "I will understand that this isn't what you signed up for when you offered to travel with me."

Zevran studied her in silence for a moment. Her disposition had changed much since the Landsmeet. Ever since she had spared Loghain and lost Alistair, she had been less inclined to talk or even smile. A warrior capable of splitting an ogre's skull with that bloody huge sword of hers, not to mention stand her ground in a fight with a score of injuries and enemies on all sides, he had never seen her look so vulnerable. Or so hurt. Everyone else was celebrating the end of the Blight and the death of the Archdemon, or paying their respects to Loghain's tomb, but she was not interested in such things. After speaking briefly to her brother Fergus and former companions she had made her appearance before those gathered outside the palace and then headed straight here.

"I knew you would go after him as soon as you told Anora you intended to travel," Zevran said at last. "You know who you want by your side and intend to hold on to that. I understand. I would be the first to agree you must pursue that which you desire."

She turned to him again, a quizzical frown on her brow. "I'm not sure how to interpret that. Does that mean you don't resent him? Or does it mean you intend to…" she made a vague gesture, looking uneasy, "…try to move in now that he's gone?"

"I would be a liar if I claimed I had not considered it—you are a remarkable woman, as I've said before. But you made it clear that you love him and I will respect that. Perhaps your feelings will change in time." He grinned when her frown deepened and he raised both hands in a placating gesture. "But if not, I will continue to admire you from afar."

"Just don't try to sabotage me or turn me around," she warned him, straightening her shoulders so that the gleaming blade strapped across her back shifted. "I intend to keep looking until I track him down."

Zevran dropped his smile instantly and quirked a brow instead. "If you don't trust me you can tell me to leave."

Asleena opened her mouth as though to make a retort, then closed it. An expression of pain crossed her features for an instant before she shook her head and looked away, the dark curtain of her hair shielding her face from view. "I don't want you to leave." She started to walk closer to the waterfront and Ferrix trotted after her.

Zevran paused a second, considering, then sighed to himself and followed. "Do you know where he went?" he called, catching up.

"I know he boarded a Rivaini ship before the siege," she replied, her tone even again. "I asked around a bit and got the name of the ship, the _Stonereef, _but I don't know where it was bound or who to ask." A note of frustration entered her voice. "Much is still in chaos."

"So you were just planning to sail for Rivain and hope for the best, right?" Zevran shook his head. "That may be the _Stonereef_'s final destination, whatever port it docks notwithstanding, but it could pull into other harbours along the way." He gestured to the vessels at rest in the water, mostly merchantmen. "There is good profit to be had in Denerim and most of Ferelden since the Blight. Even though it didn't last that long, it doesn't take much to ruin harvests and create a demand for basic staples. I wouldn't be surprised if our ship simply docked at a port on the other side of the Waking Sea before deciding whether or not to wait for an outcome to the siege."

"You're saying he could have disembarked anywhere," Asleena said, looking dismayed.

"No, I'm saying he could have disembarked closer to home than you're imagining." He peered from ship to ship. "And his berth could have even returned with supplies."

A flicker of hope gleamed in her eyes and she nodded, giving him a small smile. "It's worth looking, right?"

Zevran's answering smile was wider. "Not for the ship itself, my Grey Warden, but for the harbourmaster."

* * *

As simple as the task sounded, the crowd didn't make things easy. No longer content with merely watching Asleena's progress across the docks, admirers and profiteers soon began to swarm upon the small group. Asleena had declined the offer of an armed escort, and only now realised the possibility that Anora hadn't extended it solely for security reasons. Mothers were rushing up with babies, merchants were trying to present their wares either as gifts or in the hopes of patronage, blessings were called down upon her from all sides. Zevran, noticing his companion's expression was becoming harried, suggested he could find the harbourmaster alone and slipped away when Asleena nodded agreement.

Ferrix was growing irate at the press of people as well, and began to snap at those who came too close. Asleena brushed a finger over the mabari's head once in a while to keep him under control, but didn't scold him. She _preferred_ having a circle of empty space between herself and the people. Even so, she had to try and shrug off an uncomfortable feeling between her shoulder blades. She had removed the heavy dragonscale armour Wade had fashioned for her, since an ocean voyage and metal plates didn't mix. Usually she didn't need any more steel than a good blade to feel secure, but she wasn't accustomed to so many people…watching her.

She felt a sudden pang of homesickness for Highever. She'd told Fergus she would come back in a while, but of course hadn't been able to tell him when that would be. She had no idea how long it would take to find Alistair. He had over a week's worth of travel on her, especially if he hadn't simply stayed in whatever port he'd landed in.

_Please, Maker, let him be safe. Let him forgive me._

Someone jostled her and she started out of her half-daze. Ferrix barked angrily as she stumbled then turned around to see a couple of men sprawled on the road, apparently stunned. A second later someone shouted a warning and a sharp pain exploded in her back.

The crowd scattered, many screaming, but some produced weapons and shouted at her to get out of the way. Ferrix had already bounded from her side with a horrible snarl and Asleena had barely drawn Starfang before the warhound bore his mistress's attacker to the ground and clamped his jaws around the man's throat. There was a choked scream and then silence. Asleena stood still, listening and more than listening as she slowly looked around, sword still in hand, her back afire. Everything felt frozen around her as her eyes lifted, drawn by some battle-born instinct, and she saw the bowman drawing a bead on her from a distant rooftop. Without thinking she flung herself to one side and heard the twang of a bowstring, then the sharp sound of an arrow shattering against the ground followed by a distant cry of pain and a crash. She rolled to a crouching stance and looked up again, but the archer was gone.

"Warden!" Zevran's voice called. She found the elf with her eyes. His longbow was out and he pointed towards the spot the archer had been. "If that fall didn't kill him, he should be alive!" He darted away.

"Ferrix, catch but don't kill!" Asleena ordered, and the mabari charged ahead of her. Seven of the armed townspeople followed at a distance, a couple pale-faced after the warhound's brutal retaliation but the rest with the grim expressions of soldiers. Asleena mentally noted the quality and keep of the weapons she could see, and wondered if Anora had decided to send an escort after all.

They found the bowman crumpled and unconscious amidst the pile of wooden crates that had broken his fall. One of Zevran's arrows protruded from his left shoulder. Ferrix snuffed around the prone form before returning to Asleena's side, watching the armed people behind her with wary eyes and raised hackles.

"An elf," one of the men noted.

"The other one was a human," a woman pointed out.

Zevran appeared, gave the fallen archer a cursory glance, then looked up at the roof and pointed. Asleena nodded and stepped closer, cupping her hands to boost him up. The assassin disappeared for a few seconds then returned, passing down an Antivan longbow.

"A Crow?" Asleena asked as her companion sprang lightly down.

"Yes." He rifled through the elf's clothing and fished out a pair of blades, along with some poison vials.

"What about the other one?" one of the men asked.

Zevran looked up, as though noticing them for the first time, then shook his head. "I didn't get a close look, but I'm guessing he was either on his own or paid to be a distraction. Perhaps the crowd was getting in his way," he added nudging the body with his foot.

Asleena reached back with one hand and winced as she probed her wound. She looked at the blood on her fingers and showed Zevran. "He may not have been a Crow, but he got a lot closer than you did."

"Ouch," he said, then laughed. "_That_ wasn't a bad shot either. I may bear the scar for years!"

She snorted, and without so much as a glance over her shoulder said: "Captain?"

"My lady?" a swordsman replied automatically, stepping forwards.

"Would you mind having this Crow locked up? I'm sure Queen Anora can sort things out." Only Zevran heard her mutter, "It was her father who set up the contract in the first place, after all."

As two of the plainclothes soldiers bound the would-be assassin and hauled him away, Asleena led the others back to the man Ferrix had taken out. She shook her head in disgust at the sight of a trio of peasants gathered around the corpse, all of whom fled in different directions when they noticed they were being approached. Anything the man had possessed that carried value had been scavenged, right down to the dagger he'd stuck in Asleena's back. At her gesture, one of the guards slung the body over his shoulder and trudged away.

"You should get that bandaged," Zevran murmured. He unfurled a cloak and held it out. Asleena swirled it around her own shoulders, hiding the twinge of pain the movement cost her, and nodded to him.

"It'll hold for now." She looked at the guards. "Thanks for your assistance."

"For what good we did," the captain said, but bowed. "We will be in the vicinity, Warden. At least the people are giving you a bit more distance now."

"Yes," Zevran chuckled. "Nothing like the prospect of being stabbed, shot or having your throat torn out by a warhound to disperse a crowd."

"I suppose the Crows are still after both of us," Asleena noted once the guards had walked away.

"Loghain's contract against the Ferelden Grey Wardens still stands," Zevran agreed. "The Crows may not be accepting new contracts against you, but they never cancel existing ones."

"Loghain's dead! How do the assassins expect to get paid if they succeed?"

Zevran smiled. "Contracts are paid in advance, of course. While the organisation keeps a cut of the payment, the man or woman who ultimately kills the mark gets a decent portion as well…along with added reputation of course."

"Andraste's Sword…" Asleena paced a few steps and growled to herself. "So Alistair might have them on his back as well. I should have ordered Loghain to cancel the contract. Why didn't I think of that? Why didn't you suggest it?"

"It would not have worked. The contract was signed by both Loghain Mac Tir _and _Rendon Howe. My former associates would only have accepted a contract termination with both their names upon it."

"And I had already killed Howe." She sighed and took a calming breath. "I'm sorry. And before I forget…thank you. For taking that archer out."

The elf shook his head, looking disgusted. "He'd already let fly an arrow before I got him. But you can thank me for something else."

Her eyes widened. "You found the ship?"

"I found the harbourmaster, and as chance has it he spoke with our wayward Templar personally. He actually suggested the _Stonereef_ when Alistair came looking for passage out of Denerim. Apparently he wanted the first port outside of Ferelden that was still on the mainland and away from the Blight."

Asleena thought, trying to remember her geography. She'd been an indifferent student, preferring history books to maps, except where the maps had direct relationships with whatever she was studying at the time. All she knew for sure was that if Alistair was avoiding the Blight he'd have probably headed north towards the Free Marches. "Do you know which port he might have ended up in?" she asked finally.

"Ostwick is closest, though Hereinia is a possibility. The catch is that both cities take about the same length of time to get to. Ostwick has a few islands in the way, you see, while Hereinia is a smoother sail."

"Ostwick then," she decided after a brief consideration. She shrugged. "If not the first, we try the second. There's not much choice is there?"

"I agree. Now, I suggest we find a merchant who'll be willing to take this finely crafted Antivan bow off my hands." Zevran grinned. "Here you may be the Hero of Ferelden, surrounded by devoted admirers willing to shower you with gifts, but in the Free Marches we'll need some coin—and you donated almost all of it to the war effort."

She winced. "I hadn't considered that." The little gold she'd held on to had subsequently been divvied between her remaining companions, at her insistence, for almost all of them had been leaving Denerim to pursue their own goals now that the Blight had ended. She supposed she could have asked Anora for a monetary reward, but didn't want to waste her boon. "Perhaps the Crow's contract isn't all bad then," she mused.

Zevran's brows shot up. "How so?"

"I might as well get _something _out of your people trying to off me," she said lightly. "And just think of it. An assassination attempt once or twice a week…so long as you can haggle a good price for those fine Antivan bows and such, we should be pretty well set up."

He stared at her then threw back his head and laughed in delight. "You are _joking._ Do you know, I can't remember the last time you made a joke? Unless…" his expression became imploring, "that _incredibly_ hurtful comment about the man who stabbed you…?"

"Sorry, Zevran." She flashed him a crooked smile and led the way to a distant merchant stall. "I was serious about that one."

He sighed theatrically and glanced down at Ferrix. "I may have been a little off my game, but it's not like I wasn't _trying_ to kill her, you understand."

The mabari gave him a hard look.

"Yes, well…thank you for not chewing my neck up back when we first met. I truly appreciate it."


	2. Shields and Ships

The merchant was named Parick. He was an aging man, his brown hair grey-streaked and tied back into a tail, but his beard was kept short. His stall of arms looked to be turning quite a profit from what Asleena could see. Even though the Blight had ended, plenty of darkspawn still roamed Ferelden. Scattered and disorganised they may now be, they were still dangerous and it was an imprudent or purely stupid traveller who left the city without a weapon at his side.

Zevran haggled with the man, enjoying playing up the value of goods crafted from his homeland more than anything else, Asleena suspected. She waited to one side, idly browsing the wares on display. Seeing nothing interesting, she crouched beside Ferrix and rubbed his ears affectionately. He lifted both heavy forepaws to capture her hand and she grinned despite herself.

"I haven't been paying you much attention lately, have I, boy? Anything here you want? A new collar, maybe?"

He licked her hand, put down his paws and trotted over behind the stall. A second passed and a standing rack of shields was suddenly collapsing.

"Ferrix!" Asleena groaned, but the merchant had already spun about as tempered metal clattered to the ground.

"Hey, HEY, what's your mongrel doing?!" Parick thrust the bow back at Zevran and rushed over, hurriedly grabbing shields from atop a wriggling mound. "Call him out of there!"

Asleena whistled sharply and Ferrix backed out of the pile to the sound more clattering and a few screeches. His jaws were clamped firmly around the straps of a heavy shield. Adroitly dodging the merchant's grab for his prize, the dog dashed back to his mistress and deposited his find at her feet, wagging his stumpy tail so madly his hindquarters wiggled.

"Oh, so if scratching up my stock isn't enough, now you're robbing me! Don't think that just because you saved Ferelden your pet can pilfer my goods!"

Asleena ignored him and slowly turned the shield over to view its face. Polished silverite gleamed brightly in the noon sunlight, and the familiar blue and white device of a rampant griffon was made visible.

"Isn't that…?" Zevran trailed off when Asleena nodded.

"Duncan's shield. Alistair must have sold it so he could buy passage." She took a steadying breath. "When he said he meant to leave the Grey Wardens, I…" She traced a couple of scars in the metal with her fingers and kept her head down until the tears blurring her eyes went away. Ferrix whined and tried to thrust his muzzle into her face. She hugged him around the neck then rocked back on her heels. "This shield meant so much to him."

"The Wardens were everything to him, no? Maybe he didn't want to hold on to anything that reminded him of them."

"That was the gist of it, yes," Parick growled. "Walked away from his duty and his country like a coward. Do you intend to buy that or not?"

Asleena stood up, her eyes flashing fire. Zevran took a quick step back, for the last person to speak ill of Alistair had been Morrigan, who had remarked that Loghain's presence was an improvement on Alistair, 'not that that was saying much.' Asleena had frozen mid-stride, then turned around and struck the Wilds Witch across the face, shocking everyone—Morrigan most of all. The two women had had disagreements about many things, but Asleena's respect of Morrigan's ways and opinions coupled with her refusal to judge had won the witch's friendship over time. Morrigan had not apologised, but while her face had shown open anger she had not so much as cursed after being hit. As far as any of Asleena's companions knew, Morrigan had simply been too taken aback to say anything. Asleena believed otherwise. The time to face the archdemon had been drawing near, so Morrigan had not wanted to risk Asleena's wrath further and jeopardise her chances for an Old God child.

The shield was slammed down loudly atop a display table, rattling nearby swords and maces. Asleena leaned over, thrusting her angry face closer to the merchant, who was suddenly looking a lot less confident.

"How much did you pay for it?" she demanded.

Parick glanced between the Warden and the assassin, swallowed, then said, "Two gold pieces, my lady."

Zevran shook his head slightly when Asleena looked to him. They didn't even have that much.

"I would gladly accept a letter of credit," Parick suggested with a small quaver in his voice. "I'd give it to you freely, my lady, I swear, but everyone's trying to recover after the war!"

Zevran tsked. "Dozens of merchants who'd scramble at the chance to do the Hero of Ferelden a favour, and we get you. Asleena, if you conscript this man into the Grey Wardens does he automatically donate all his goods to your order?"

"I couldn't do something like that to a man who's just trying to make his way in the world," Asleena chided with a pleasant smile, but the merchant had gone pale at the suggestion.

"Take it," Parick said. "Just take it and go."

"And my bow?" Zevran asked, putting it on the counter.

The merchant scowled, but counted out a pouch of coins and slapped it down. "As agreed," he said curtly, then deliberately turned his back to set about restoring his stock of shields to order.

"You surprise me. I didn't expect you to go along with that," Zevran said when they had distanced themselves from the stall. "And no innocent protests of how you disputed my conscription remark, either. You know exactly what I mean."

"He annoyed me."

"Yes, I noticed."

Asleena slung the shield across her back and this time failed to hide a flinch of pain.

"Let's organise this ship. And then, unless you've developed some mastery for tending injuries in places you can't see and can barely reach, I'll patch you up. I know my way around dagger wounds."

"So long as you promise to keep your hands to yourself…all right."

"As much as I can, given the circumstances."

She nodded. "Thanks." Letting out a long breath, she scanned the harbour and pointed. "Let's start there."

* * *

It didn't take as long as either of them thought to arrange a ship, and payment turned out to be completely unnecessary. Once Asleena and Zevran had asked around a bit, they had been approached by a young Orlesian captain, Emilien, who offered to ferry them to Ostwick without charge on the _Summerset_.

"My father is a Warden of Orlais," he said by way of explanation, the words almost musical with his accent. "It would be poor of me not to open my decks to you after all you have done."

"The Orlesian Wardens are heading to Denerim, aren't they?" Asleena asked after clasping Emilien's hand in thanks. "Aren't you worried you'll miss your father when he arrives? You can't see him that often with your respective callings."

"This is true," he agreed gravely, "it has been a while. But if Ostwick is as far as we travel I am confident I can return before his arrival."

"I won't take any more of your time than that, then," she told him. "And no arguments, captain." She managed a smile. "I'll not keep you from seeing your father again."

"Be that as it may, my lady, should you have a change of heart when we tie up at Ostwick, I will sail at your word."

Asleena's smile became more genuine. "You're very kind. Thank you."

He inclined his head. "We can't leave until the morning tide, so it's up to you whether you'd prefer another night ashore or get used to sleeping on board."

"I've never sailed before," she admitted. "Perhaps I should try to get used to being on a ship before we head out to sea?"

Emilien's face split into a wide and slightly wicked smile. "Oh, we have a pure landswoman before us! Yes, I think a night on board would be a wise start. If you turn green as soon as you set a foot on deck I'll have some idea of what to furnish your cabin with."

"What?"

"He means a pail," Zevran said with a chuckle. "But you might need one anyway to clean up after your little friend here." He nodded to Ferrix, who grunted and tried to maintain a pose of dignity.

"I have transported dogs before, though never a mabari," Emilien said, studying the warhound with interest. "Are they as clever as Fereldens make them out to be?"

Zevran laughed at that and nodded fervently. "And then some! The two of us raided Fort Drakon together! Just the two of us. It was a masterpiece of cunning if I do say so myself."

After a very strange look, Emilien cleared his throat and returned his attention to Asleena. "Ah…the _Summerset _is this way, Grey Warden."

"I don't think he believed me," Zevran observed aloud, earning a smirk from Asleena before she moved to walk at the captain's side. "Does no one appreciate the risks we took?" he added, turning an appealing gaze to Ferrix, who wagged his tail. "It's all right for you, you just had to 'pretend' to look like a mabari. I had to play the part of an honest businessman! Do you know how hard that is when you're an elf and have an Antivan accent?"

Ferrix barked happily.

"Yes, I suppose that _does _make us all the more awesome for succeeding…"

The mabari spun in an excited circle, barked again and bounded after Asleena. Zevran watched him go with a bemused expression.

"I really wish I knew what was going on in that head of yours, sometimes."

* * *

"Clean water and cloth, sterilised needle, silk thread, and a little something to speed the healing." Zevran motioned to the bunk. "You can sit or lie down, whichever is more comfortable, but you will have to lose the shirt." He grinned as blood rushed to her cheeks, then turned his back without waiting to be asked.

"What do you make of our captain?" she asked, unfastening the cloak and peeling off her tunic. She gritted her teeth as the material pulled at her wound.

"A stroke of luck?" Zevran suggested, inspecting a bulkhead as he waited.

"I hope so. He seems nice, if his story is honest." She sat, her back to the assassin, and draped the cloak around her neck for a modicum of decency. "Ready."

"It may shock you to hear this coming from me, but if you don't have a little trust once in a while you will not get far." Zevran crossed the floor and inspected the bloody hole in Asleena's back. It had missed the muscle, was too close to the spine for his comfort, but fortunately didn't look bad. The rest of her back was surprisingly smooth considering how often she was fighting, but he could see faint ridges here and there from past scars. "So. Do you trust me?" he asked.

"To patch me up? You said you'd behave. And I told Ferrix to keep an eye on you."

Ferrix barked from near the door and Zevran eyed the mabari askance. "I would have expected a growl, perhaps a few more teeth showing…" the elf hesitated. "Why is he looking at me like that? And wagging his tail?"

"Why indeed?" she returned, amused.

"Huh. Well, here we go. I have to clean the blood away, so this may sting." He plunged a cloth into the basin of water, squeezed out the excess, then started to dab carefully at the injury. "So…may I ask something?"

"Of course."

"Why _did_ you spare Loghain?"

She didn't answer at once. "Both Anora and Ser Cauthrien asked me to show mercy. I promised I would. And Riordan was right…we needed more Grey Wardens."

"But you gained one only to lose another. Why not keep the one you trusted over a man who betrayed your king and tried to have you assassinated?" Zevran rinsed the cloth out, sending crimson tendrils spiralling across the water's surface.

"I didn't expect it would go that far." Her voice lowered, eyes staring at the far wall of the cabin. "We'd agreed Anora would be queen, he'd supported it all the way. He was happy with it. I never thought he'd try to take the crown just to see Loghain dead."

"So you spared Loghain to stop Alistair from becoming king for the wrong reasons?" he asked sceptically, pressing the cloth to her back again.

She hissed softly, but nodded. "That's part of it, yes."

"But not all of it. Your promise to Anora and Cauthrien, then? You spared him to honour your word?"

"Still not all of it. Don't mistake me. I didn't like Loghain at all. I may understand him a little better now, but if Riordan hadn't stepped in I'd have demanded a trial and let the Landsmeet decide his fate." She shifted her shoulders as Zevran removed the cloth. "Riordan was right; we needed more Grey Wardens. I didn't understand exactly why at the time, but I remembered something Duncan said to me back when I was recruited. He said duty to the Grey Wardens came before personal vengeance. I would have thought Duncan's words meant something to Alistair."

"Perhaps before Duncan and the rest of Alistair's friends had been left to the darkspawn by Loghain, yes." Zevran picked up the needle and deftly threaded it. "Vengeance can drive people to do foolish things. I am about to start stitching, by the way."

Asleena nodded and braced herself against the bunk. "We were speaking of Loghain, though, not Alistair." She paused, clenching her jaw at the strange feel of thread sliding through her skin. "He surrendered. And perhaps I thought, as a Warden, he could redeem himself. Make up for some of the evil he'd done."

"Everyone deserves a chance? Sounds familiar."

She chuckled weakly. "At first. But when Alistair left, after Anora called for his death, I…I was so angry. I wanted with all my heart for the Joining to kill Loghain, Zevran. I hated him so much for yielding. I wished he'd given me no choice and fought to the death."

"Do you regret letting him live?" he asked after a short silence. He knew she was still holding something back, that there was more to her staying her blade than she'd said, but the trip to Ostwick would leave plenty of time for more talk.

"I did at the time, yes. I regretted both letting him live and supporting his daughter." Realising her voice was growing rougher with emotion and anger, she paused a moment. Zevran waited until the tension in her back relaxed before plying the needle again. "I think she called for Alistair's death more out of anger at his demand for Loghain's blood than politics."

"And now?" he prompted, trying to return her to his question.

"Do I regret letting Loghain live? After all that has happened? I…don't know. I want to say 'no'. You saw what happened to Loghain when he killed the archdemon. That could have been Alistair or me instead. We might not have succeeded at all. How do you second-guess something like that?"

"It is so sure a thing one of you would have died?"

"No one has ever slain an archdemon and lived."

Zevran tied off the end of the thread, making no further comment. That she spoke the truth he had no doubt, but he also recognised an evasion when he saw one. Setting down the needle, he opened the poultice and scooped up some of the ointment to rub into her scar.

"As it is, we are both alive," Asleena went on. "It could have been…a lot worse."

The rest of Zevran's ministrations were accomplished in silence. He touched her no more than necessary, then withdrew his hands. "There. Don't stretch too much and try to sleep on your stomach for the next couple of nights."

"Thanks Zevran. And for listening."

"Ah. You've listened to me talk about myself more than enough in the past. It's only fair."

She looked like she was about to say more, but only nodded. "Have you…ever been in love, Zevran?"

He made himself laugh and look amused at the question. "Of course. Many times!"

"Oh." She looked down at the cloak covering herself. "I guess I'll clean up and get some sleep."

"You haven't eaten yet," he protested.

"I…don't feel all that hungry."

His eyes narrowed, then he realised and shook his head. "I see. The good captain will be disappointed." He collected the bowl of water and other items, then crossed to the door. "Sleep well then."

"And you. Whenever you get around to it."

The door closed. When Asleena didn't move, Ferrix went over to her and put his great head in her lap. Dark brown eyes stared up at her like they could see straight into her soul. She scratched the mabari's ears with one hand, and rubbed her eyes with the other. "It's all right, boy. I'm fine. I just…really miss him. And I'm afraid, you know?" Ferrix sighed gustily at the petting and merely blinked up at her in response. They sat like that for some time before either finally lay down to sleep.


	3. The Summerset

"You and the Warden…" Captain Emilien leaned next to Zevran at the rail. The elf turned his attention from the moonlit waves and examined the young Orlesian instead. He was pretty enough with his blond hair, beardless face and engaging smile. His blue eyes were almost black in the night.

"It's not what you think," Zevran said.

"Maybe not, but I'd wager you'd _like _it to be what I think."

"Oh? Are you sure? I can think some fairly exotic things."

Emilien laughed. "I like you."

Zevran allowed a wolfish smile to cross his face and deliberately looked the taller man up and down. "Is that so?"

"Not in that way, though," the captain said, laughing again. "So if you and she are not together, you wouldn't mind if I…?" Noting the elf's change of expression, Emilien broke off and nodded. "Ah. No need to say anything."

"Also not what you think. Well, not entirely. Did she tell you why we're going to Ostwick?" The captain shook his head, no. "She's chasing after a man she wants. I doubt she'll encourage advances, but you are welcome to try. It might be entertaining."

"Hm. Does this man she want love her?"

"Oh." Zevran smiled. "Yes. It was disgusting to watch at times, the way they looked at each other."

"Why'd he leave her then?"

"Why does any man abandon a woman he loves?" Zevran countered, looking out to sea again. "Because he is a fool."

"That's the Maker's own truth, my friend. I had a girl once, back in Val Chevin. Red hair down to here, eyes like the sea, and her temper! Like a storm blowing in from the Frozen Seas. Maker's breath, but she was cold when she got angry."

"What happened to her?" Zevran asked, curious.

"She didn't like the idea of me being a sailor, and always away from home."

"And always in foreign ports with strange women."

"Heh. Possibly." Emilien gazed at the winking lights of Denerim. "One day she confronted me and said I would have to choose between her and the sea. She said the next time I sailed, she would not be there when I returned. I didn't believe her." When Zevran said nothing, Emilien pushed away from the rail. "Do you drink? I suddenly feel the need for a glass."

"A glass of what, exactly?"

"I've acquired a few bottles over the years. There's a fine Orlesian vintage I've been saving, even an Antivan brew somewhere though that might have gone bad by now. I'll let you choose."

"Why not?" Zevran straightened with a nod. "I haven't had a decent drink since leaving Antiva. Have you tried Ferelden wine?"

Emilien looked pained. "Sadly, yes."

"I think I like you, too."

* * *

The following days were filled with fair weather and good winds. Asleena mostly spent the first two inside feeling miserably seasick. The one occasion she had been convinced to come outside for fresh air she'd managed to get to the railing before throwing up. On the third day out of port she determinedly emerged from her cabin, made it to the captain's table for breakfast, and had so far succeeded in keeping the meal below her ribs. Now she sat on the _Summerset's _foredeck, looking down amidships and feeling relatively high-spirited. It was good to be on the move, to have a destination, and to not have the fate of the world pressing down on her. Until now she hadn't really slowed down enough to appreciate the feeling of being free to go where she wanted rather than where duty or necessity demanded. She was also trying not to think of Alistair too much. Every time she did she kept trying to imagine what she'd say to him, how she'd try to explain, and she could never find words that satisfied her. Such thoughts turned her anxious, then depressed that even if she hunted him down it would only be to end up in an argument over who was right. And _damn _'who was right', right? What did logic or honour or duty or anything matter when it involved the heart? Alistair had left believing she had betrayed him. Perhaps she had.

"You're doing it again," she muttered to herself, and picked up the heavy stick at her side. Ferrix, who'd been lying at the foot of the stairs, raised his head at the motion and waited expectantly. Asleena made sure none of the crew were in the way then let the stick fly and Ferrix was after it instantly, his toenails clicking on the deck.

There were footsteps behind her, then Emilien's voice said, "I'm pleased to see you're feeling better, my lady."

"Give it time, captain," she replied, but threw him a smile, "it's still early. Maybe I'll be able to stand up without feeling dizzy by nightfall."

"I thought you'd like to know it will be two more days to Ostwick if the weather holds." He pointed, indicating an island off the left side of the ship. She couldn't remember if left was port or starboard. "That's the northeastern point of Brandel's Reach," he said. "Once we round that cape our destination is pretty much dead west."

"I'll be happy to stand on something that doesn't move under my feet for a change," Asleena said wryly. "Thanks, Emilien."

"My pleasure. So can I ask how you were recruited? I've known a few Grey Wardens thanks to my father, and some of them have pretty interesting stories on how they joined the order."

Asleena shrugged. "The story is interesting, but I don't know if I'd call it pleasant."

Emilien cocked his head. "Another rescue story, then?"

"Yes and no. I'm from Highever, you know. A Cousland."

"Truly? I'd heard rumours Highever was attacked, my lady."

"It was. By a man my family counted a friend. A Grey Warden named Duncan was visiting at the time, looking for recruits. When the castle was overrun he rescued me." Realising how little she was really saying, she spread her hands in apology. "Forgive me. It's not something I like to remember, and it wasn't all that long ago so it's still a bit raw."

A vast understatement, she knew. She hadn't wanted to be rescued. Duncan had had to invoke the Right of Conscription on her when she'd refused to leave her parents' sides, then virtually drag her from the keep. She did not have fond memories of her first few days in the older Warden's company. She'd tried to make a run for it during the night; he'd caught her then tied her up until dawn broke. She'd yelled every insult she could think of straight into his face; he'd borne it all with a patience that had infuriated her. She'd done her best to make the man's life intolerable, hoping he'd get annoyed or disgusted enough to cut her loose and be rid of her. Ferrix had been no help during the ordeal either, as though he'd known her escape would lead them back to Highever and straight into disaster. Finally, when she'd exhausted all the reserves of her anger, she'd simply broken down and wept. And Duncan had let the grief run its course. He'd even been compassionate about it. After all the crap she'd put him through, he'd been _nice_. She still hadn't wanted to be a Grey Warden, but that had been the point she'd started to warm to the man, not to mention feel ashamed of her childish display. Duncan had forgiven her, of course, and from then on she'd resolved to live up to her family name rather than act like…like a spoiled noble's daughter.

"He saved my life," she said into the silence that had fallen. "I blamed him for tearing me from my family. I wanted to fight our attackers to my last breath…but I'd have died with them if not for him."

Emilien was staring at her in shock. "He forced you to abandon your family? Why didn't he save them all?"

"My father was mortally wounded…dying. Mother would not leave his side." Asleena chuckled suddenly, but it came out sounding like she was choking on tears. "Dragging me away might have been easy for Duncan, but me _and _my mother? Never would've worked." She fell silent as Ferrix returned, stick in mouth, and patted the animal's head. "Would you mind giving me a moment, Emilien?" she asked.

"Certainly." He started for the steps on the other side of the foredeck, then a voice from the topmast yelled, "Sails! Captain, we have cutters!"

"Maker have mercy…where away?" he shouted back as Asleena pulled herself to her feet.

"Ahead, captain, two points port! Rounding Brandel!"

"Spill wind!" Emilien ordered those aloft. "Helm, turn us starboard. Into the Amaranthine!"

"Sir!"

Asleena grabbed at the railing as the ship lurched to the right. "What are cutters?"

"Pirates, Warden." Emilien pointed towards the island again, at the same cape he'd indicated before. Three small sails had rounded the point and were heading straight for the _Summerset. _"If we head into the Amaranthine Ocean they might give up rather than chase us. They were probably hoping to drive us backwards, into an ambush between Brandel and Alamar."

"How fast are they?"

"Fast enough."

"We could sail into them, fight them off—"

"No," he cut her off. "Warden, my crew aren't warriors and I didn't take on a full complement when we set sail. I'd prefer not to lose anyone."

"Then lock yourselves up below decks until it's over! How many people are usually on these cutters?"

"Four or five each, but why risk it? We can head for Hereinia instead then return along the coast to Ostwick."

"Not a chance. You're getting back to Denerim to see your father, Emilien, end of story. Now give what orders you must and get your crew to safety."

They glared at each other for a moment, then Emilien nodded reluctantly. "All right, Warden. We'll do this your way." He looked up. "Reef all sails!"

"Zevran!" Asleena shouted, making it down to the deck.

"Over here." The Antivan already had his bow out and was patiently watching the approach of the three cutters. "There's time yet."

"I'll get my bow and sword."

She was back in a few minutes, cursing her lack of sea-legs and pulling a leather vest on over her tunic. "If I throw up in the middle of combat, I apologise in advance."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

She shook her head and strung her bow with a grunt. "No. But I've gone through darkspawn and a bloody archdemon, and I'm not going to let a few pirates slow me down now. We're going to Ostwick." She slid out an arrow and tried to take a steady stance. "Besides, I've spent the last few days spewing my guts into a bucket. I need some exercise."

"That's more like it. How's your back?"

"It itches," she growled. "You concentrate on the first one that gets in range. I'll try to take the one on the right."

"Aye, aye!"

They waited, watching the cutters approach as the _Summerset's _crew hit the deck and went below. And then Emilien was beside them with a shortbow in hand.

"I told you to get to safety!" Asleena exclaimed.

"To be specific, you only said to get my crew to safety." The captain helped himself to an arrow from the quiver on the deck. "This is my ship and those men and women below are my people. Warden or no, you can't order me to hide in the holds."

Asleena drew a breath but whatever she'd been about to say flew from her head when Zevran drew his bowstring and loosed. She spun to face the advancing pirates without another word and took aim at a distant figure. Neither she nor Zevran were especially fond of ranged weapons, both preferring the up close and personal kind of combat, but both knew how to use a bow from their respective upbringings.

The Warden let fly and smiled grimly when her arrow found its mark, sending a pirate staggering over the edge of his smaller vessel and into the water. It proved to be a lucky shot; she missed the rest, a combination of wind, moving targets and rising motion sickness conspiring to take every following shaft off target. Zevran's aim, and Emilien's once the cutters were in range, were much better, but the pirates had come prepared and raised wooden shields to protect themselves from the barrage. All three boats reached the _Summerset, _and only three of their crew had been taken out. One of the cutters veered towards the bow.

"They're circling to board from the other side," Emilien guessed. "Now what?"

"This," Zevran said, hefting a flask of green liquid, and hurled it down into the closest cutter's deck. There was a smash of breaking glass and screams of agony as acid splashed in every direction. Three of the pirates in the vessel jumped overboard to quench the horrible burning while the fourth writhed in the bottom of the boat, howling in pain.

"I'll take care of the other boat," Asleena said. "Ferrix, stay here and do what Zevran tells you to do."

Zevran didn't reply, too busy picking off the targets thrashing in the water, but Emilien nodded to her. "Be careful."

She skidded across to the other side of the ship and peered over the edge, ducking back quickly as an arrow buzzed past her ear. A grapple appeared over the rail further down, its metal prongs biting into wood. Asleena moved towards it and drew Starfang. Rather than cut the rope she stood still, waiting for a head to appear for convenient removal. She was not disappointed. As the first decapitated pirate stiffened and fell backwards with a splash, Asleena risked a glance over her shoulder to check on her companions. Like her they were crouched at the rail, blades ready, but then something flew over Zevran's shoulder to shatter on the deck. A slick of oil spilled across the boards and there was a roar of flames as it ignited. Asleena ducked instinctively as another flask passed her head and broke against the mainmast. Blazing droplets flew like golden rain and the rigging was suddenly ablaze.

"Maker, _no_!" Emilien shouted in horror and ran for a hatch. "Take care of the boarders!" he threw to Zevran. "Leave the fire to me."

"Surrender or we'll burn you to the waterline!" one of the pirates yelled from Asleena's side.

She looked back again to where Emilien and several of his crew were emerging, some with blades and others with heavy piles of canvas to smother the flames, then set her jaw. "Bugger this for a joke," she whispered, and vaulted over the railing with a roar. The cutter rocked violently when she crashed down upon it, pitching one of the pirates overboard. A woman who'd been halfway up the boarding rope jumped down, throwing herself on Asleena's back and bearing the Warden to her knees. Another pirate regained his balance on the rocking boat then lashed out with his sword, tearing a gash across Asleena's ribs when she tried to avoid the blow. Starfang's pommel cracked sharply against the skull of the woman clinging to her back; she went limp and fell into the water. The pirate with the sword lunged again, trying to skewer her before she could regain her balance, but Asleena turned the blow aside.

"If I were you, I'd jump," she advised, and swung the greatsword in a vicious horizontal arc as the man launched himself backwards into the water. Without pause, she drilled her blade down into the deck. The cutters were shallow vessels and Starfang sheared straight down through the hull. Water gushed from the breach and she holed the boat two more times before sheathing the sword and flinging herself for the rope dangling down the _Summerset's _keel. Pulling herself up a few feet, she stopped short of the railing and looked down. Two of the pirates were clinging to the ruined cutter, which they'd overturned to prevent from sinking further.

There was barking above her, then a voice overhead asked, "Asleena?"

"Emilien!" she climbed up the rest of the way and he gave her a hand back on deck. "Thanks. I didn't want to stick my head up in case someone got excited and cut it off."

The captain pulled up the grapple rope, tugged it free and coiled it around his arm.

"Is everyone all right?" she asked carefully.

He nodded. "Yes. But if you don't mind, next time we do it my way. We got the fire out but we had to cut away a good portion of the rigging to do it." His expression softened. "I know you're in a hurry to chase this friend of yours, but there's no need to risk people's lives just so you can find him that much sooner."

"You left some alive?" Zevran interrupted, leaning over the rail. Asleena hadn't noticed him arrive. "Should I clean up?"

"I…no. Let them swim to shore."

The elf shrugged. "Your call."

Asleena nodded to Emilien, a silent apology in her eyes, and headed for her cabin.

The captain sighed and turned to Zevran, who was still apparently absorbed in the plight of the two pirates in the water. "She is not like other Grey Wardens I've met."

"She hasn't been a Grey Warden for very long."

"Maybe that's it." Emilien glanced at the pirates. "Just so you know, I have no reservations about you taking care of those scum." Then he turned away and started bellowing orders to his crew.

Zevran drew his bow calmly, took aim and waited until the two men below noticed. For a drawn-out moment they simply stared, colour draining from their faces, and then both ducked underwater. "Took you long enough," the elf muttered, and sent the arrow speeding towards the cutter's exposed hull. It thunked into the wood. He loosed a second shaft for appearance's sake, aiming for a safely distant patch of water, then shouldered his bow and wandered back amidships.

He would be the last person to kill someone she wished spared.


	4. Ostwick

The city of Ostwick stood on a high promontory that overlooked the Waking Sea on the west coast and the Amaranthine Ocean on the east. The white stone walls were washed with a golden-rose colour as the sun dropped into the west, standing in stark contrast to the deeply forested Vimmark Mountains which were their backdrop.

Asleena looked back and up at the sky, peering past the _Summerset's _sails. Black clouds were chasing them from the east, a storm blowing in from the Amaranthine. If she watched long enough she could catch the random flickers of lightning between thunderheads. Emilien had said they would beat the storm to Ostwick, but it was looking like it might be a near thing. The wind had picked up significantly.

The upside was that said wind was blowing in the right direction, and they were running before it with swift ease. Repairs to the rigging after the battle two days ago had only taken a couple of hours to complete; ropes aside, only one of the lower sails had been significantly damaged and the ship carried spare canvas. Asleena had tried to talk Emilien into accepting something, _anything_, to cover his costs, but he wouldn't have any of it.

"If I really come down with a shortage of coin, my lady, I'll put it down as a Grey Warden expense and let my father know," the captain had told her with a grin.

She was just relieved he didn't seem to hold anything serious against her for endangering his ship and crew.

At present, Zevran was further down the deck with Ferrix, surrounded by a small clutch of admirers. He'd become a favourite amongst the female members of Emilien's crew early on, much to the dismay of the other sailors, and they took every opportunity they could when he wasn't at Asleena's side. She smiled to herself as a couple of the women laughed at some remark the elf had made. He was a rogue, a charmer and a shameless flirt, everything she had _not _grown up with in Highever as daughter of a Teyrn. Her noble blood, fondness for large weapons and proficiency as a warrior had tended to, if not scare men off completely, make them treat her with a cautious, distant respect.

As for Zevran…it was hard for her to define where she stood with him sometimes. She enjoyed his outrageous flatteries and had initially played along with his many suggestive comments only because she never thought him serious—he spoke to every woman that way after all, not to mention a number of men. A couple of times she had suspected he saw her as more than just someone else to bed, but could never be certain that wasn't just her own vanity talking. Things had come to a head between them some time ago in Ferelden when he had offered her a massage and more. Knowing where it might lead and not wanting to hurt Alistair, she had declined.

Noticing she was watching him, Zevran said something to his attentive audience and sauntered up to the foredeck with a wide smile on his face. "Thinking of me?" he asked, and when she completely failed to respond he added, "I _see. _With clothes or without?"

"With!" she blurted, blushing furiously, and indicated the pouting women he'd left behind with a small jerk of her chin. "Which is more than I can say for them, I think."

"I was just regaling them with the tale of our epic infiltration of Fort Drakon," Zevran said, reaching down to rub Ferrix's ears. "They loved it."

"You added embellishments in all the right places, I suppose."

"My dear, you wound me! Am I a bard who needs to twist the truth for a good story? My exploits and talents require no such exaggerations."

"You're impossible, you know that?"

A sly glint entered his eyes. "Completely the opposite, actually."

"Maker's Breath…" Asleena groaned, and turned her burning face back out to sea. Ferrix came up beside her and put his paws on the rail, demanding attention by pushing her hand with his nose. "Bet you'll be as happy as me to be on solid ground again," she said to the dog, determined to change the subject. "Birds to chase. Dirt to dig up. Trees to p—" she caught herself and cleared her throat. "Well. Lots and lots of trees."

"Lots of elves, too," Zevran said. "Maybe not so many here in the south, I'm not entirely sure, but further inland? Elves aplenty."

"You've been here before?"

"Not to Ostwick, but the Free Marches border Antiva, and the Green Dales lie somewhere along that boundary."

"I forgot there were Dalish up here," Asleena said thoughtfully. "Are they anything like the ones back in Ferelden?"

Zevran chuckled and lounged back against the railing. "How should I know? Because I am an elf? Suffice to say, we move in different circles. And mine don't involve dancing around trees singing to nature spirits."

"They're not all that bad. The Dalish helped us against the darkspawn, didn't they?"

"In Ferelden, perhaps." The assassin made a dismissive gesture. "But that is of no moment. Have you decided what we'll do when we get to Ostwick?"

"Besides get some rooms for the night? Ask around and pray that someone can give us some useful information."

"Ah! A tavern crawl! It's been a while."

"This isn't a holiday," Asleena replied sternly, but couldn't repress a smile.

"More's the pity. You could do with one."

She gestured towards the city. "If we're getting closer to Antiva, do you think we'll run into any more trouble?"

He shrugged a nod. "It's possible. We weren't exactly taking any pains in hiding where we wanted to sail back in Denerim. Information is a commodity too, you know, and it has ways of travelling ahead."

Asleena brooded on this for a moment, watching the sunlit walls of Ostwick gradually darken as the sun slipped below the mountains. "Are you worried?" she asked.

"Me? No. Bring them on, I say!"

The _Summerset _coasted in towards port, while behind them the first distant rumblings of thunder could finally be heard on the wind.

* * *

The rain hit just after the ship tied up to the docks, and not as a wispy drizzle that slowly built up over time, either. Great sheets of it sluiced down from the angry clouds, drenching any who failed to scramble for cover. The waves had increased in size and frequency, and Asleena was glad to get off the _Summerset_'s deck before its rocking could become any more intense. Captain Emilien had invited them to remain until the storm blew over or at least abated a little, but the Warden had politely declined.

"Good luck finding your friend then," Emilien had said, giving her a bow and a smile. "If you find him quickly or change your mind about heading for Hereinia, the _Summerset _will still be here tomorrow and dawn the next day. Otherwise, farewell."

And with that, Asleena, Zevran and Ferrix were ashore again. Human and elf were wrapped head to foot in great cloaks in an attempt to stay as dry as possible, but the way to Ostwick was a winding path up the eastern face of the bluff so shelter from the storm was practically non-existent. A wooden rail had been set into the rock as an aid against fatal falls, but the driving wind and rain made for poor footing. Even Ferrix slipped once or twice on the treacherous ascent. When they finally reached the top and made it to the torch-lit southern gates of the city, it was to find the portcullis closed.

"You're kidding," Zevran muttered, turning his back to the wind and rubbing his chilled hands. "No welcome party?"

Asleena peered through the bars. "Hello?" she called. "Anyone?"

An armoured guard appeared on the other side, his approach barely audible above the storm. "What?" he demanded, eyeing all three of them with undisguised suspicion.

Asleena and Zevran exchanged a glance. "We just arrived in port," Asleena began.

"Then you'd best return to your ship until sunup," the guard interrupted. "Gates stay closed until then."

"Go back down in this?" Asleena objected, waving a hand at the deluge.

"You were the fool who came _up_ in this."

"I'm in a hurry! You seriously can't just let us in?"

"No, I seriously can't," the guard replied. "It's not worth my life or the lives of anyone in Ostwick to let in strangers after dark. Get back to your ship and return in the morning."

"That sounded ominous," Zevran remarked.

"What's so terrible around here that you have to shut up tighter than a Circle Tower?" Asleena asked.

"Cannibals," the guard said darkly. "Blood drinkers and flesh eaters. Now if you have any sense, get back to your ship! You get attacked and I won't be coming out to help."

One of Asleena's hands shot out to grab a bar when the guard made to leave. "What's to stop them going down to the docks?" she demanded.

He only shrugged. "Maybe it's too far or too difficult to travel. We've not heard of any ships being troubled during the night, though." He touched a hand to his helmet and walked out of sight.

"Isn't there another way in?" Asleena shouted, unwilling to give up.

"No! You're welcome to try the north gate, but that's locked even tighter."

She turned away with a growl, drawing her cloak more closely around herself.

"Next time tell them you're a Grey Warden," Zevran suggested.

"That doesn't always work. I tried it on a Templar once outside Kinloch Hold and he made some snide response about being the Queen of Antiva."

He grinned, but said, "It can't hurt to try again."

"North gate, then?"

"Indeed. This is all your fault, by the way," he added conversationally, falling in beside her. "Ever since meeting up with you it has become impossible to walk into a locale without encountering some sort of horrible plot, monster, or quest hook."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

It took almost an hour to circle the city, and while the rain let up somewhat in that time it was still heavy. There was no road or path circling the wall either, so both Asleena and Zevran were muddy to the knees after the trek. Ferrix was particularly sodden and dirty and didn't look at all happy by the time they reached the northern gate. Approaching the torch-flanked portcullis, Asleena called out again for any guards.

Two appeared this time, and neither looked pleased to see the travellers.

"I'm sorry, but the city is barred until dawn."

"Maybe I can help?" Asleena tried. "I'm a Grey Warden."

"I thought all the Grey Wardens were heading to Ferelden."

"The Orlesian ones, yes. We're _from_ Ferelden. Just pulled in to the docks today."

"You're both Grey Wardens?"

"No, just me!"

"So what's he then?" the guard asked, pointing at Zevran.

The second guard finally elbowed his comrade. "That don't matter. Lady, if you arrived on a ship you'd best get back to it. Southern post should have told you that."

"They did," Asleena said. "We were hoping you'd be more reasonable."

"Reason is why we keep the gates shut in the first place. Only these and the walls keeping the flesh eaters out. They could be out there in the dark right now waiting for us to open this thing for you."

Asleena sighed wearily and shook some of the rain off her cloak. "I suppose I can't fault you wanting to protect your city. Tell me about this cannibal problem of yours."

"'Tis your life, woman. You want to go looking for trouble, take the road behind you into the mountains. We tried contacting the Circle Tower at Starkhaven to sort it out, thought it might be Blood Magic trouble, but it wouldn't have reached them yet."

"Where's the north road go?"

"Through the Vimmark Mountains and up to Markham, eventually, but we think the problem's source is a mining village along the way." The guard seemed to consider. "You might make it there in two hours, maybe three in this weather."

"I'm all for a dark and rainy journey," Zevran announced, grinning beneath his cowl. "After darkspawn and dragons, cannibals just don't have the same intimidation factor."

"I wouldn't take it so lightly. A Templar came through here just when the trouble had started, said he might give it a look." The guard shook his head. "Haven't seen him since."

"How long ago was this?"

"Two weeks, I think, yes?" the guard looked at his companion, who nodded. "He might've been lying about being a Templar, though. Didn't have that shield of theirs, nor the armour."

Asleena regarded him sharply. "What did he look like? Fair hair, about this tall, muscular build?"

"That sounds about right, yeah. Enchanted sword, too. Had a fire playing about his blade. Friend of yours?"

"You could say that, yes."

The guard looked between Asleena and Zevran, sighed and shrugged a shoulder. "I won't be telling you what to do, but don't get your hopes up. Watch yourselves out there." He tapped the other guard on the shoulder and the two withdrew from the entrance.

Asleena turned from the gate and stared off into the rainy night. "He was here," she said suddenly, needing to speak the words out loud.

"I take it we're not going back to sleep on the _Summerset_ then?" Zevran guessed wryly. Then he grinned. "Dark and rainy journey with cannibals?"

Asleena's answering smile flashed in the firelight. "Let's go."


	5. The Smell of Blood

Her elation at finding Alistair's trail refused to abate. After all they had endured in Ferelden, she could not for one moment believe that he might have fallen prey to the monsters in the mountains. There would be another reason why he hadn't returned to Ostwick, and an explanation as to why the cannibal problem had not abated after he'd said he'd look into it. He would be fine and they would find him. What happened after that she did not have to think about at the moment; right now there was only the hunt.

The thunder and lightning passed overhead, giving a brief but dazzling display before continuing west. The rain slackened, falling now only in intermittent patches, but the wind did not die down. It was only when they reached the thick forest growing on the slopes of the Vimmark that they were shielded from the worst of the storm.

Asleena and Zevran had not spoken since setting out. With the poor visibility and the racket of whipping leaves and branches overhead, they kept their full attention on the path and surrounds. Ferrix trotted a short distance ahead of them, and when he stopped in the middle of the path and laid his ears back the other two halted just behind him.

"I mark three," Zevran said, peering ahead as he drew his blades, "Two on the road, a third over there off the track."

"I see the first two but…no, got them all now." Asleena pulled Starfang free from the scabbard across her back. "Try for a silent flank. I'll get their attention." Zevran nodded and darted into the trees. Asleena pushed the hood of her cloak back and strode ahead with Ferrix keeping close to her side.

Two rain-drenched humans were crouching on the road, dressed in ordinary clothes. When they saw Asleena they stood, turning away from whatever they'd been examining—the corpse of some kind of animal, it seemed. Then she saw the dark smear of blood on their faces, the drip of it from their hands.

_Not 'examining'. Eating._

They made no move towards her, and then the third figure Zevran had first spotted came out of the trees to stand with them. All three were women. One of them was still a child.

There was a sound then, a noise that should have gone completely unnoticed beneath the wind. It was like someone sniffing the air, and it hadn't come from Ferrix.

"Dog," one of the elder women said, her pale eyes turned towards the mabari. She inhaled again, looking at Asleena this time. Her nose wrinkled. "Another tainted one." She closed her eyes and once more she scented the air. "Elf. Antivan." Blood-stained lips curved into a predatory smile. "Oh, I _love _Antivan flesh. And this one smells fascinating…like murder. Can I have it?"

"No," Asleena said. "Nor the dog, nor me."

"You?" she scoffed. The other woman and the girl looked on expressionlessly. "I will drink tainted blood if nothing else is available, but I prefer not to. My host's stomach would not approve if I consumed a darkspawn." she laid a red-streaked hand to her abdomen.

_A demon_, Asleena thought, and her fingers tightened fractionally around Starfang's hilt. "You're mistaken. I'm no darkspawn but a Grey Warden."

"What difference? Tainted blood is tainted blood, and it smells rancid. Your own flesh knows it's been infected with rot…surely you can feel it shrivelling away as the disease spreads through your being."

"I didn't come out here to discuss my mortality, but yours."

"Your predecessor said similar," the demon said with a laugh. "I suppose, then, you plan to slay me as he did? You do know this would mean death for the fleshy mortal I inhabit?" She reached out casually and wrapped both hands about the throats of her passive companions. "Not to mention death to these? No? Changed your mind? Disappointing. You Grey Wardens have grown weak over the years, haven't you? You used to have a taste for blood." She smiled. "You could order your elf to take me on. Would that salve your conscience?"

"There are other ways to deal with possessions," Asleena said, remembering Connor. "I don't have to kill you to get rid of you."

"The conclusion _he _came to also. I believe he said he'd fetch some magi to take care of me, but I don't intend him to find me should he ever return. Worthy game is becoming scarce," she sniffed at the neck of the young girl, "and I'm almost out of villagers."

Asleena hesitated. "Some sort of bargain then?" she asked cautiously.

The woman smiled, exposing her teeth. "What would you offer that I hunger for? The Antivan? You have already lost him, tainted one."

Asleena stiffened. "Zevran," she called. "Come out!"

The wind tore loudly through the leaves and branches, scattering rain across the road. There was no other sound.

"Zevran!" she shouted louder.

The demon-possessed woman pushed her two captives lightly, shoving them towards Asleena. "Don't worry, I won't let you leave empty handed. Two human girls should make up for one elf, mmm? Two lives for the price of one?" She turned and vanished up the path.

"Don't you—" Asleena started to give chase, but the other woman and the girl latched onto her like eels. One of them tried to bite the Warden's arm, sinking her teeth into a leather bracer before Asleena could shake her off. Ferrix knocked the older woman down by throwing his heavy body at her legs, and Asleena was forced to drop her sword to seize the smaller girl around the waist. Both struggled, fingers clawing and mouths trying to bite anything within reach.

"Maker forgive me," Asleena whispered at last, and struck the girl's head hard with her first. The child crumpled. Laying her down quickly, Asleena repeated this treatment with the other woman, whom Ferrix had pinned to the muddy road but, sensing his mistress's will, not harmed. Asleena dragged both to the side of the path beneath a tree and sat them against the trunk, swearing repeatedly under her breath. With any luck, when—_if _they regained consciousness they would be in their right minds again, like Bann Teagan had been.

"Ferrix, stay with them."

The mabari gave a low, keening whine.

"It's all right." She scratched the mabari's wet ears and neck then quickly retrieved Starfang. "I'll be back."

_And I pray I don't return alone._

_

* * *

_

Asleena ran. Her great cloak lay abandoned somewhere behind her; the heavy material had caught at the wind, slowing her down, so she'd stripped it off and let it fall where it would. She'd found the path branching from the main road and taken it, hoping the footprints in the mud indicated this was the way her quarry had taken. When undead appeared to block her way she took this as a sign that she'd been correct, for surely the demon had called them up to stall any pursuit. Corpses shambled or crawled towards her, almost all missing one or more limbs in the manner of something having been chewed off rather than cut cleanly. Skeletons with protruding fangs appeared out of the night also, humanoid and animal both, and they swarmed her like a pack of dogs fighting for the last scrap of meat on a bone.

She plunged into their ranks with a roar and called on the Templar training Alistair had given her. Brilliant blue and white fire rippled down Starfang's blade, illuminating the night-darkened trees and making the raindrops shine like diamonds. The skeleton directly in front of her faltered at the holy glow and she plunged her weapon through its ribcage, unleashing the flames to swirl outwards into an expanding circle that tore through the ranks of the undead, throwing them away from her. Without waiting to be sure they were properly destroyed, she continued up the path at speed.

The run was uphill almost all the way, the path uneven and rocky in places, and her lungs were burning when she finally reached the outskirts of the village. She stopped briefly to catch her breath and bearings. There was a small scattering of houses, mostly wood, but a few of stone. From the largest of these, a manor by its looks, lights shone through the windows.

Rain began to fall again as she crossed to the manor's double doors. They were locked. Asleena took a step back and drove her foot against the barrier, which split around the latch. She forced her way inside.

"_Tainted one, you try my patience."_

Asleena staggered over the threshold and shook her head. An odd cramp twisted her gut, and she realised she felt hungry, ravenous, in fact. A wave of vertigo passed through her and she braced herself against the broken door, blinking to regain focus. Her vision and mind cleared, but her stomach continued to ache as though she were starving.

When she recovered enough to look around she almost jumped out of her skin to realise she was not alone. There were two men advancing on her with the same vacant expressions she'd seen on the women in the woods. Unlike the women, they were armed, but fortunately whatever controlled them had not made them master swordsmen. Asleena fended off their swings, waited for an opening and managed to knock both down and out in turn without running them through, although one got a glancing blow across her left arm, drawing blood. Asleena rubbed at the wound absently as she glanced about the room, trying to guess which way the demon had gone, then she smelled something that made her stomach cramp painfully and her mouth water. It was like scenting a seasoned roast after days of trail rations…

She inhaled deeply through her nose, unable to resist, and her eyes were drawn to the trickle of blood running from the temple of one of the men she'd felled. Without thinking she knelt beside him and brought her face closer, sniffing after that glorious aroma. She put her gloved fingers to the wound and wiped some of the blood up.

"_Delectable, isn't it? When hunger runs rampant, the meanest meal smells like a banquet such as would be laid out before kings. It can be like this always, if you wish. Nothing but the kill, the feeding, the feast…"_

Asleena lifted her hand to her lips, paused short of tasting, drew another heady breath—then gagged. _Her _blood was on the hand too, wiped from her left arm, and the stench was overpowering, worse than rotting meat. She staggered upright, retching, and heard a hiss of anger and frustration echo through the room.

"Zevran," she said, trying to regain her senses.

"_You wish to join us? Ah, but Antivan blood, elven blood at that, is so much sweeter than that of a common dirt-grubbing human. You will see…you will hunger…"_

Asleena groaned as another scent wafted past her from a far door, a tantalising odour… _hot, spicy, smooth…_

"No," she growled, lifting her bloodied arm to her face. The putrid scent made her gag again, but it drove away the maddening need to eat. She sheathed Starfang, picked up one of the lighter swords dropped by the prone men on the floor, then went to the door the spicy smell had come from. Opening it revealed a stone stair leading down beneath the manor. Light flickered far below.

Asleena kept her arm raised to her face and descended.

* * *

It was a wine cellar. Massive wooden barrels and racks of bottles filled the room wall to wall. At the far end hung Zevran, stripped to the waist and suspended from the roof with his hands chained above his head. His head lifted when she burst in. His face was paler than usual, his eyes dazed, and there was a ragged wound in his neck that seeped blood.

Before him was set two chairs facing a small table, upon which stood a branch of candles.

The demon-woman stepped out from behind a cask, black hair swirling around her shoulders. She put one languid hand on Zevran's side and smiled at Asleena. "There you are. Drink?" She flourished the two wine glasses in her other hand.

"Let him go."

"Why would I do that?" She held one of the glasses up to the elf's neck and pressed so that the blood flowed. "Why would you want him, anyway? I was right when I said I smelled murder on him. This one has taken more lives than I have. Would you kill the one I possess to save the likes of him?" She pushed the second glass to Zevran's neck. "I watched you, tainted one. You don't like killing people you think can be saved, do you?"

"Sometimes there's no choice."

"There's always a choice, even if it's not the one you'd like to make." She left Zevran's side and drew nearer, a half-filled glass in either hand. "You could leave him here with me, tainted one. I could promise not to kill him. You mortal creatures regenerate swiftly…this Antivan alone could sustain me for a long time and never be aware of what was happening if I wished it so." She extended a glass suddenly towards Asleena. "Or we could share."

The smell sliced through the stink of her own blood, striking her like a shaft of sunlight in a dark room. She was dazzled, disoriented, and barely conscious of the hand upon her left arm forcing it away from her face. The sword dropped from her hand, a distant clang of metal on stone, and the glass of blood was suddenly in her hands, pushing against her lips, filling her nostrils with a heavenly aroma and making her stomach lurch with renewed hunger.

"Asleena," Zevran croaked.

The woman glanced back in annoyance and the spell suddenly broke. Asleena sent her staggering with a punch to the head, threw the glass aside and picked up the sword.

"You think you can overcome me as easily as you did the humans?" the demon hissed, crouching low and backing towards Zevran. "You think you can tie me up until your magi come? There are only two ways this can end, Warden: You let me go or you take an innocent life. And you won't take me without losing your Antivan f—" her voice choked off into a strangled cry as Zevran's legs locked around her throat from behind. She howled, twisted her head and sank her teeth into his thigh. Zevran jerked against his chains and cried out in pain.

"Warden, kill her! I—can't—hold—on!"

Asleena wrapped both shaking hands around the hilt, leaped forwards and lunged with a single stabbing thrust to the heart. The possessed woman stiffened, gasped once and went limp.

Zevran let her collapse to the flagstones and sagged in his chains.

"She's dead," Asleena said after a moment, feeling for a pulse that no longer existed. "I suppose…that's that…" Trying not to think too much, she got up and dragged one of the chairs over so she could reach Zevran's chains and set him free. He dropped to his knees as soon as he was released, tried to stand and groaned.

"Easy, you've lost a bit of blood." Asleena jumped down and helped him into a comfortable sitting position. He looked like he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open, on the edge of passing out. "Just be still for a while."

The assassin sighed, relaxing. His eyes flickered open and he gazed at her for a moment before taking in his own shirtless state then the chains hanging from the ceiling. Smiling vaguely, he said, "You know, I've had dreams that started a little like this."

"Only you could make a joke like that at a time like this," Asleena rebuked gently, but he had already lapsed into unconsciousness.


	6. Companions

Zevran woke in a clean bed with daylight streaming through a west-facing window. He lay still for a moment, listening for any tell-tale sounds that he might have company before sitting up and looking around. His blades lay sheathed nearby in easy reach, his leathers and clothes were clean and hung across the back of a chair. On a dresser near the bed were bandages and a couple of poultices. The room was a simple one, log walls, wooden furniture, none of it painted, all lovingly carved. Feeling a stiffness on the side of his neck he reached up and was surprised to feel dressings padded there. More of them were wrapped around his right thigh, bulking on the inside over a major artery. What—or who—had he been doing to suffer a wound _there?_

He frowned to himself, trying to piece together the last things he remembered. Creeping between trees in the dark. Dead hands reaching up unexpectedly from the undergrowth at his very feet. A brief struggle. A candlelit room. Wine. A pretty woman with pale eyes and black hair kissing his neck. Then…He sat very still and concentrated, using all his training to dredge up the details. He remembered Asleena facing off against the woman. He remembered blood, pain, teeth tearing into his leg when he'd made his attack, and shouting at Asleena to finish the job when he'd realised he was too weakened to do it himself.

Zevran rubbed a hand over his face and sank back into the pillows with a deep sigh. That was going to be tricky. Urgency had driven her to make that kill, but she was not going to be happy about it even if she was convinced it was the best option available.

Movement outside caught his eye and he looked out the window. Asleena, wearing full dragonscale armour, had walked into view with a middle-aged man who had the build of a miner or stonemason. Zevran watched their faces and body language as they stopped and spoke. The man was haggard and unsmiling, his movements tense, his manner like one who felt he owed a debt to someone he didn't much like. Asleena's expression was predictably closed and calm, as it always was when she was distressed or unhappy. She had not learned to maintain an effective façade, probably thinking that becoming withdrawn and stone-faced hid her feelings when it really did the opposite for those who knew her.

The discussion ended and the two separated, Asleena heading for Zevran's location. He sat up against the bed-head, letting the sheet fall to his waist, and waited for her to arrive.

"You're awake," she noted, and to his chagrin did not run her green eyes over his physique. She did look relieved to just see him, however. "How do you feel?"

"Like a woman had her way with me and I didn't enjoy it very much," he riposted dryly. "How long was I out?"

"All night and until noon today." She glanced out the window. "If you're fit to travel, we should get moving as soon as possible."

He got up immediately and went for his clothes. "Trouble?"

"We're in no danger. At least, I don't believe so. The villagers, the few who survived, don't remember much…" She shrugged an armoured shoulder. "They're…grateful, I suppose… but the demon killed most of them, or made them kill each other, and they're only just now coming to terms with the deaths of people they've known all their lives." She watched him as he pulled his shirt on, then said, "And they don't know how to take it that I killed some of them, too."

"You had to barge through a few to get to the demon, I presume."

"Fewer than you'd think. Only four. I tried to knock them out so I wouldn't be forced to hurt or kill them, but…the two girls in the woods? I hit the youngest one too hard. She died this morning."

Zevran worked the buckles of his leather armour slowly, sorting through possible responses. "It was an accident, yes?"

"A stupid one," she agreed in a harder voice, frowning. "I seem to be developing a trend of acting hastily when someone I care about is in trouble. She was a little _girl_, Zevran! Tell me I couldn't have thought of a better way to incapacitate her than slamming my fist against her skull! And for what? To save—" she stopped abruptly and clamped her mouth shut, eyes flicking to him.

"—to save Zevran Arainai, cold-blooded Antivan assassin?" he finished for her, seating himself in the now-empty chair.

"That's not what I…" she began in an apologetic voice, then caught his raised brow and flushed. "Fine…maybe it is. But don't think I'm suggesting it's your fault. I just keep remembering the demon's offer—"

"What offer?"

"You don't remember? No, you were a bit out of it." Asleena crossed her arms and leaned back beside the door. "She—it said it could take you, just you, and spare all the others." Her face became disconcertingly unreadable. "One life, a killer's life, for the lives of the village." There was a breath of silence after that statement, then she added, "That's how the demon put it, anyway. I'd never have agreed to it."

"A fact for which I am very grateful," Zevran said smoothly, rising to his feet. "Not that being chained from a roof and having my neck nuzzled for weeks on end isn't an appealing prospect, but I prefer to be conscious for that sort of thing." She answered this with a half-hearted smile. He sighed inwardly and picked up his blades, strapping them across his back. "Did you learn anything about Alistair?"

"Not from the villagers, but the demon spoke of him I think. It mentioned a 'tainted one' that had come past before we did, and that he was going to look for magi to perform an exorcism. He must have kept going north."

Zevran cocked his head. "One of the Ostwick guards mentioned a Circle Tower at Starkhaven. Maybe he headed there."

"Which way is that from here?"

"Northwest, and a fair distance cross-country. We'd do well to continue to the city of Markham for supplies. That will be the fastest road through the Vimmark Mountains, at any rate."

"Well there's no point going back to Ostwick. They'll find out what's happened here sooner or later. Starkhaven…" she frowned thoughtfully, losing her troubled demeanour. "I thought it sounded familiar before. I know I've read it somewhere, in a history book probably. Didn't an archdemon get killed there?"

Zevran shrugged. "I cannot claim to be an expert on the Blights, my dear." He picked up his pack. "If you wanted to get going, I am ready. Ah…Ferrix…?"

"Outside," she said. "I left him here while I went to try and find out where the trouble had started. The miners dug into a sealed room—and I mean completely sealed, solid stone all around. There was a hideous statue there with carvings and such. I couldn't read any of it, but the woman who got possessed was a scholar of sorts according to one of the villagers. When she went to examine it she must have triggered something." She glanced up to where Starfang's hilt protruded over her shoulder. "I wasn't sure if it really mattered anymore, but I smashed the statue."

"You should have waited for me. What if something had happened?"

She looked amused and turned for the door. "Don't you get tired of watching my back?"

He smirked, pleased he'd gotten her to smile, and followed behind with a slight limp. "Not in the least. I could watch it all day."

Ferrix greeted them outside under a cloudy sky. Zevran crouched to give the mabari a good backrub, feeling oddly touched that a dog of all things appeared so happy to see him. Being an assassin, there were few people who were ever happy to see Zevran—if they saw him at all, of course. The warhound had been properly washed, he realised, and a fresh coating of kaddis decorated his brown fur.

"I couldn't help noticing when I awoke that I was remarkably clean," Zevran said to Asleena, who had been glancing from house to house in a detached sort of way. "Someone else bathed me, yes? You wouldn't be so heartless as to scrub my back and sponge my chest while I was unconscious, surely."

"A question for the ages, Zevran."

"No, seriously…" But she was striding away. "_Did _she?" he asked Ferrix, who barked enthusiastically before galloping off. "Come on! Was that a yes or a no?"

They walked out of the silent village, and not one person came to see them off. Despite Asleena's erect posture and unhurried pace, Zevran could see the tension in her even through the armour she wore. She wanted to be out of here, away from the condemnation she sensed behind every window. It was hard to fathom how he, an assassin, could feel no guilt about his profession as a hired killer, but she, who tried to save lives, seemed to suffer so much when she failed to protect just one from an untimely fate. He wondered if anyone in this cursed place had given her any gratitude, then felt an unexpected stab of shame at the hypocrisy. Had _he_ really expressed any gratitude? He'd made some glib remark that was entirely in keeping with his character and not at all what she needed to hear right now.

"Asleena," he said suddenly, on impulse. "Thank you."

"For bathing you?"

For once, he let the opening pass and kept his voice serious. "No. For coming after me. For saving me."

She looked over at him, as though to see if he was going to follow up with a joke. When he did not, some of the defensiveness went out of her stance. "You'd do the same for me, right?"

"In the blink of an eye."

* * *

"Don't take this the wrong way, but are you proud of being an assassin?"

"I'm proud of being a very _good _assassin. Does that work?"

"Yes, actually. And why crows? Why'd your guild choose to name themselves after crows?"

"Sten asked me that once."

"Did you give him an answer that satisfied him?"

"As he would say: No."

"Is it because they're black? Assassins prefer black, right?"

"How prosaic, my dear. Black is fashionable, I'll grant, but rarely practical. A good assassin camouflages himself to his surrounds. Out here, for example, dark greens, browns and greys."

Asleena picked up a piece of wood and fed it into the campfire. It spat and sent up a shower of sparks that whirled away towards the stars. She settled down on her folded blanket again, stretching her toes towards the heat and watching the elf on the other side of the flames with a speculative gaze as he ran a whetstone down the edge of a blade. Ferrix was off to one side, lying on his back with all four paws in the air. Occasionally one of them would twitch.

They'd travelled for a week since leaving the village. Progress had been slow, in part due to most of it being uphill, and in part due to Zevran's injured leg. It caused him little discomfit now, and he'd removed the bandages from it and his neck that very night. They would reach Markham City the next day and had set up camp off the road. A comfortable routine had been established where they took turns keeping watch or sleeping, cooking, cleaning and so on. It had become quite companionable.

"Well, crows sound awful so it can't be anything to do with singing talent. Oh, wait!" She leaned forward, eyes shining as she grinned. "Animals have collective names, and the one for crows is 'murder'. 'A murder of crows'! Is that it?"

He grinned at her. "I always preferred 'a scourge of mosquitoes', myself."

"You're not going to tell me even if I do guess it, are you?"

"No," he said again, imitating Sten's deep voice so well that she laughed.

"All right, keep your little secrets." She stretched a little, looked around and gave him a rueful smile. "All this time on the road and I still expect to see one of the others around the fire. I miss…all of them. Even Bodahn and Sandal."

"Enchantment?"

Her good humour returned instantly. "Enchantment!" They shared a laugh, then she let out a long breath and smiled at him again. "I'm glad you came with me, Zevran."

He paused in his work to look at her. He had always appreciated her looks, but it was always the smile that caught him off-guard. He was used to a certain kind of scrutiny from women, a perusal that had everything to do with appearance and bearing. Longing, lust, envy, these things he knew well and could respond to. Asleena's smile, though...He thought for a moment, pondering if her feelings towards him had shifted. If Alistair was in Markham, if he forgave her, Zevran might not have another chance to learn the answer.

"How is your back?" he asked suddenly.

"My…? Oh." She sat up and crooked an arm behind her to feel. "A bit of an ache, but otherwise it feels fine. When do the stitches have to come out?"

"It's been long enough. I can do it now if you like." He got up when she nodded, put down his blade and came behind her. "Your shirt," he reminded her in a quiet voice, turning away.

"Right." There was a note in that singular word. Uneasiness? He dismissed the thought. She had not forbidden him to misbehave, unlike last time. "Ready," she said.

She still had her arms in the garment, he noticed, and they were folded across her front to hide her more salient features. She was quiet as he knelt behind her and examined the healing dagger wound with his fingers and eyes. "Yes, these can come out," he murmured, and carefully slit the stitches with a dagger he kept in his right boot. "Does this hurt?" he asked as he picked the threads away.

"No. It just feels a bit strange is all."

He let the last silk thread fall. "And this?" he asked in a softer voice, then bent his head to gently brush his lips against the scar. When she didn't react he kissed her again, higher up the spine, then again, ascending slowly to the base of her neck, then into the curve of her shoulder. He felt her shiver then, heard the small intake of breath and lifted his face when saw hers turn towards him, ready to capture her mouth. But she stopped a mere breath away, blinking at him.

"…Zevran."

There was no anger, no shock…but the way she said his name made it clear she had been expecting, hoping to see someone else. No prizes needed to be offered for guessing who.

She shifted subtly, pulling away from him. "I'm sorry."

"No. It was my mistake." He rose and returned to his seat on the other side of the fire, making sure he waited long enough for her to get her clothes in order before sitting to face her again. After a long, silent minute, Zevran spoke again. "You said you are glad I am here. May I ask _why _I am here? Of all your companions, why bring me, _only _me?" He waited for a response, but she only stared into the flames. "Am I here to be the one who comforts you if Alistair turns you away?"

Her head jerked up at that. "No," she said adamantly, but her face had paled.

_She is not sure she speaks truly on that score._

"I would not complain if it were true," he replied. "I simply wish to know where we stand. Why am I, alone of all of them, here with you? Is my presence some sort of test for yourself, perhaps? Entertainment? Torture?"

"No. Zevran…" She fixed him with an unhappy frown. "I did not bring you along to use you. How can you think that of me?"

"Why not Leliana, then? Wynne? Someone who does not see you as I do."

"How do you see me, Zevran?" she asked quietly.

"…as someone desirable and tempting. Need I have told you? So. Why me?"

"No one else would come."

His brows shot up in open surprise. "What? You asked them and they said no?"

"Not…as such. They all had other plans. Sten wanted to go home, Leliana to seek out Marjolaine, Wynne and Shale—"

"You didn't ask them, did you?"

"How could I?"

"It's quite easy, my dear. You open your mouth and words come out."

"No!" She got up, looking first angry, then upset. "_You _were the only one who offered to stay with me, Zevran. I couldn't ask the others because…" her face twisted, "…because I was afraid they would reject me to my face, all right? Do you know who of them spoke to me about Alistair after the Landsmeet? _None_. Not a word was said. No one even asked _why! _They just…kept on going, kept talking to me like nothing was wrong, like I hadn't just cut my heart out!" She took a deep breath, closed her eyes briefly and spoke in a more controlled tone of voice. "I couldn't shake the feeling that some of them...condemned me for letting Alistair go like that. B-because no one even asked if I was all right." Her voice broke on the last sentence and tears spilled down her cheeks, shining in the firelight. "You were the only one who offered to come, Zevran," she repeated in a small voice. "And I didn't want to travel alone."

Zevran waited silently, half expecting her to flee for the shelter of her tent, but she sat down again and wrapped her arms around her drawn up knees. One hand wiped at her cheeks. He had seen her tears before, but not like this.

"Self-pity is unbecoming of you, Asleena," he said at last, but not unkindly. "Your friends had followed you that far, under the very shadow of the archdemon's wings. Do you really believe they would not have helped you in this?"

"I…I know. I should have asked. You're right, of course."

"I'm not trying to rub your face in it." He stretched his legs out, looked up at the stars and sighed. "I don't know why no one spoke to you, but I do know they spoke of you when you were absent. Leliana and Wynne in particular were worried for you."

Silence fell again.

"It is late. You should get some sleep. I will wake you in a few hours."

Asleena nodded once, got up and went to her tent, leaving Zevran alone to his contemplations.


	7. Difficulties

The walk to Markham City the next morning was not as awkward as Asleena had feared. Zevran spoke and acted like he normally did, avoiding mention of the previous evening, and Asleena made a conscious effort to do likewise. She did not want the relationship with her sole speech-capable companion to dissolve into uncomfortable silences. Even so, a part of her remained uneasy in the elf's presence. His…_attempt _on her was something she didn't know how to deal with. Should she feel angry he'd tried? Guilty she'd let it go past the initial kiss?

Ashamed she'd been tempted, if only for a moment, to let it go further and forget everything in a tempest of fierce passion?

_Only so I could close my eyes and believe it was Alistair's arms around me…_

Zevran had been right. She'd known something like this might happen. She had hoped she'd warned him off on the very first day, but that had been almost two weeks ago now. When was the last time the elf had had…well…sex?

_Probably on the Summerset._

That thought made her snort under her breath and grin wryly. Perspective could be a wonderful thing. Zevran might be loyal to her, and a friend, but when it came to the bedroom he'd made it clear he was only after pleasure. Asleena was not averse to enjoying herself, but she had never been a frivolous woman—especially when it came to the bedroom. Alistair was the only man she'd known, and she was not about to taint that with an ill-conceived fling.

_Not until Alistair knocks me back, anyway, _a treacherous voice in her head whispered.

_Shut up. That won't happen._

"So do you know anything about this place?" she asked aloud before a fight could break out inside her skull.

Zevran indicated he did not. "Not the city itself, but I do see something interesting. Those banners above the keep. The yellow one with the black flower design belongs to an Antivan house, the Irrenill. It can only mean a noble of their family is guesting with the Teyrn."

Asleena thought she heard a shadow of worry in his voice and gave him a quick look, stopping in her tracks. "Aren't the Crows involved with just about every Antivan noble family? Should we just head straight for Starkhaven?"

He laughed and shook his head. "We will need supplies before we head across the Wildervale, so we have no choice but to enter. We should not run into any trouble, I think. The Irrenill are known for having a Crow attaché, maybe a small number in their entourage, but that is all. If they decide to come after either of us, I am positive we will have no trouble making them regret it."

"All the same, we'd better keep close while we're here."

"I couldn't agree more. And the closer the better." He grinned at the baleful look this provoked. "If you want me to stop saying such things, my dear, I'm afraid you're going to have to stop giving me such openings to seize upon."

Asleena rolled her eyes in resignation and resumed walking.

It was impossible for her to stay irritated at that blasted man for very long.

* * *

Markham City was not as large as Denerim, but it was much bigger than Redcliff. Farms could be seen stretching north beyond the city walls, while the city proper was shielded behind stone walls. Rising above them could be seen the mighty keep, from which fluttered the black-on-yellow banner of Antiva's Irrenill family and a gold-on-red standard depicting what looked like a bear's head. The architecture of the keep reminded Asleena a little of Ostagar, and she remembered the Free Marches had once been a part of the Tevinter Imperium before they'd broken away.

They stopped at the gatehouse to speak with the guards, Asleena hoping she'd have the same luck as at Ostwick and get some news of Alistair, but all of them shook their heads at the description she gave.

"Do not despair," Zevran told her as they passed into the city. "There are plenty of places to hunt for gossip in a city. Inns, taverns, brothels—"

"He _wouldn't_," Asleena interrupted, aghast. She hesitated. "Would he?"

"Probably not," the elf agreed blithely, "but I still think we should check. Just to be sure."

She made a face at him. "We can check the Chantry too, if there is one."

"Not a bad idea, if he was claiming to be a Templar."

Visited by a sudden worry, Asleena asked, "What if he's trying to rejoin them?"

"What if he is? He can't erase the fact he's a Grey Warden, can he?"

"Honestly? I don't know. Maybe there's a way to undo it." She scowled. "Never mind. There's no point dwelling on 'what if's. All right. Since we didn't eat this morning, we're going to start our search in a tavern. I'm starving."

* * *

They ate, and then they started asking around. The very first difficulty they encountered was an almost universal intolerance to Ferrix coming indoors. While mabari were prized in Ferelden, it seemed they were not regarded anywhere near as highly in Markham. Dogs, in short, were to stay outside. Asleena wasn't happy about this, but Ferrix obeyed each command to wait at the door when she and Zevran went to enter an establishment. The second difficulty became money. They didn't have a lot of it, and when opportunistic proprietors kept suggesting they 'might remember something', they ended up having a little less each time with nothing to show for it.

"At this rate we might have to do some odd jobs to fatten our purse," Asleena muttered as they departed yet another tavern. They'd covered a decent portion of the city, it was getting late, and she was frustrated. "I think we should look for the Chantry then find an inn for the night, provided we can still afford one. What's up?" she added when Zevran didn't respond.

"We picked up a friend for the last three stops," he said quietly.

"We're being followed?"

"I believe so, yes. I will keep an eye on him. Let us proceed."

Asleena called Ferrix over and the three of them headed down the cobbled street. "I don't know if I like this, Zevran," she murmured, resisting the urge to look around. "Are you sure we shouldn't just grab some rations and get out of here?"

"There is no need to worry yet. Trust me."

Half an hour later and after a few pauses for directions from townspeople, they found the way to a square which was dominated by a large Chantry. The streets were becoming less populated now. The sun was beginning to set, the sultry light striking glints off stained glass windows, but the double doors of the building were open wide and quite a few people were still going in or out, probably intent on receiving an evening blessing. Several more were gathered around a Chanter's Board, where an ever-present Chanter was going through the Chant of Light. Flanking the open doors was a pair of Templars, and it was to them that Asleena went first. Since she had decided to don her armour for the day, her approach was not ignored.

"My Lady," the older of the two greeted, while his companion merely inclined his head and watched carefully.

"Good evening, Sers," Asleena said politely. "I am Asleena Cousland, a Grey Warden of Ferelden."

They immediately looked dubious. She had come to expect this. Claims of being a Grey Warden had almost always met with responses that Wardens were supposed to be heading _to _Ferelden, not in the opposite direction. When she'd made an exasperated complaint about this to Zevran at some point, saying she'd almost never had the same issue in Ferelden where all the Grey Wardens had been presumed killed at Ostagar. Zevran had only laughed at this and said: "You had treaties then, did you not?" Of course, she had left these behind in Denerim to be collected by the Orlesian Wardens.

"I understand your scepticism," she said before either Templar could comment, "and if you have any questions regarding my identity I will answer as I can. It is not, however, central to what I wish to discuss. I am looking for a friend who may have passed through here a couple of weeks ago, Alistair by name. He was training to be a Templar until the Grey Wardens recruited him, and I was hoping he may have paid his respects to the Chantry here." She gave them a description, but to her disappointment they both shook their heads.

"Our apologies, Warden, but we see many men pass through these doors every day, and I'm sure one of us would have remembered armour such as you describe."

"Are you the only two who guard this door?" Asleena asked.

The Templars exchanged glances. "We're not," the older one confirmed. "There are others who perform this duty, so it's possible one of them saw your friend."

"Could I ask that you share the description I gave to these others you mention, and see if they know anything?"

"I suppose it would do no harm. Very well. If you return tomorrow evening we will tell you anything we learn."

Asleena almost sighed in relief. It wasn't much, but it was more helpful than anything else they'd got today and gave her something to hope on. If they weren't so short on coin she'd have gone inside to make a donation. "Thank you, Sers. Until tomorrow, then."

When she returned to where Zevran was waiting with Ferrix she repeated what had happened then asked, "Are we still being watched?"

"Yes. And it is a Crow. I expect he will not leave us until we decide on an inn."

"We could just head back out of the city and pitch our tents."

"He is only observing, and by himself at that. Whatever we decide, they know we're here." He arched a brow at her and shrugged. "Just because there are Crows in Markham doesn't mean they'll try to kill us."


	8. The Dancing Halla

The evening meal was a simple one, and the room they paid for, though small, was cheap. They had parted with extra coin to allow Ferrix inside, and been warned the price would increase sharply if the mabari made a mess.

The Dancing Halla Inn was named after a magnificent tapestry that dominated one wall of the common room. It depicted an elven warrior in antique but beautiful silverite armour sitting astride a rearing halla, one of the white deer-like animals revered by the Dalish. The horns of the animal, which the elves carved as the halla matured, had been detailed exquisitely.

"Woven by the Dalish themselves," the innkeeper had said proudly when he noticed Asleena admiring it. "Travel a lot, they do. Sometimes they're close enough to the city we can see the sails of their landships down in the Wildervale. They never come up here, but a few brave souls go down on occasion to try and barter for something. My great grandfather was such a one."

"Why would the Dalish come so near to a human settlement?" Asleena asked.

"Eh." He shrugged in an exaggerated fashion. "Some reckon it's to lure elves out of the alienage. Give 'em a chance at another life, you know? There was one here only last week. Quite a few elves went down there, I hear."

"The city just lets them leave?"

"Why wouldn't it? Most of us reckon the fewer elves around the place the better." Ignoring Zevran's presence completely, he returned to the bar.

"I suppose not everything's different from Ferelden," Asleena murmured, picking up her ale.

Zevran looked indifferent. "City elves are treated the way they are because they allow it. If they are permitted to leave, why do they choose to stay and live in squalor scrubbing pots and floors for a living?"

"That's a harsh view," she said, frowning slightly.

"It is a harsh world, my dear."

"Maybe, but you're wrong about the elves being treated badly simply because they 'allow it'; it's because no one else has the balls to step in and stop it."

He scoffed. "Then you would make them reliant on someone else's strength rather than their own." He raised a hand when her eyes narrowed. "You know we will only argue on this point, Asleena, so why continue? I can think of infinitely more pleasant topics to discuss than oppressed masses and morality."

Asleena sat back in her chair, making no effort to hide her displeasure. As much as she liked Zevran, there was a cold streak of 'survival of the fittest' and 'looking out for yourself first' she simply couldn't approve of. "We can discuss tomorrow, then," she said. "We need coin and we still need information on the off-chance the Templars can't tell us anything."

A smile played about Zevran's lips as he tossed his purse atop the table, where it clinked. "We are not as badly off as you may think, my Grey Warden."

Asleena picked it up, gave him a suspicious look and opened the drawstring pouch. "You've been busy, I see," she said, noting the substantial number of silvers glittering within, not to mention at least two gold coins.

"I'm so glad you approve."

"I didn't say that." She pulled the pouch shut and handed it over. "But it's not like you can give it back, is it?"

He tsked. "You're getting as bad as Wynne! Murdering is wrong, stealing is wrong, whoring is wrong, what next?"

"You don't have _anything _you consider wrong?"

"I have my rules, certainly. You Fereldens just seem to want to take all the fun out of life." The elf smiled suddenly. "Take the room we hired, for example. It has one bed. I am positive that even though we are friends, you will not want to share."

"You rented a room with only one bed?" Asleena exclaimed.

"Of those available it was the most secure, and I thought it best to put safety above space."

"Yes, I'm sure that security was your top priority."

"You think so badly of me!" Zevran gave her a look of mock-hurt, putting a hand to his heart. "I swear to you, I will not protest at sleeping on the cold hard floor with Ferrix, if it is your desire."

Asleena chuckled. "What makes you think I'm going to make Ferrix sleep on the floor?"

"You are a cruel woman, Asleena Cousland. Well played. Ah…" he looked past her towards the front door of the inn. "Another game is about to start, I think."

Asleena glanced back. A young woman, maybe a year or two older than Asleena herself, had just entered the establishment. Her rich blue dress and the way she held herself, as though she owned the place and the city it resided in, made her look painfully out of place in The Dancing Halla. Honey-blonde hair tumbled down her back in a styled wave, framing a pair of blue eyes that had been made-up in some current court fashion. She was, Asleena admitted reluctantly, stunningly beautiful. Two guards were about to enter behind her but she turned to them, said something, and they withdrew to wait outside.

The woman surveyed the common room, bestowed a charming smile on the gaping innkeeper, then came straight up to where Asleena and Zevran sat.

"My lady," the woman murmured, inclining her head to Asleena, and she instantly noted the Antivan accent. "I am Taelin Irrenill. I had heard rumours you are a Grey Warden. Is this so?"

"It is, my lady," Asleena confirmed. "May we offer you a seat?"

The innkeeper was already scurrying across the floor with a chair, which he held for Taelin to gracefully sink into. "Your name must be Asleena, then," she said with another winning smile. "And your companion, the infamous Zevran Arainai." The look she gave the elf was a bit more lingering.

"You are well informed, Lady Irrenill."

"My servants see to it that I am. Teyrn Ramvor looks set to ask for my hand any day now, so I wish to know as much as I can about the comings and goings of people in my future domain."

"And do you usually come out to personally greet the visitors of Markham City, my lady?" Asleena asked.

"You two are the first. Your arrival caused quite the stir amongst our resident Crows."

"Still not happy with me, are they?" Zevran asked dryly. "Maybe I should send them some flowers."

"I wish to hear the story from the source," Taelin said, ignoring the elf. "Rumours flew for weeks after Zevran betrayed the Crows! Some claimed he fell for his mark, others that he sweet-talked you into sparing his life." Her gaze flicked between the two of them then. "How did he beg for his life, Lady Cousland? On his knees? Tears in his eyes?"

"Flat on his back, actually, calling me a deadly sex goddess." The words were out before she'd even given them a thought and she blinked. Clearly being around Zevran for so long was having an impact. She looked to see his reaction to what she'd said, and was surprised to realise he was not even smiling. There was an odd intensity in his gaze as he locked eyes with Taelin.

"I wonder if something similar would have worked for Rinna," the noblewoman murmured. "Probably not. I have heard many of Zevran's exploits, and he has never let sex deter him from a kill. From all reports, it just meant he enjoyed them more."

"My lady," Zevran said in an uncharacteristically flat tone, "perhaps we can dispense with the dagger-sharpening and get down to what you desire?"

"For the murder of my friend?"

"But it was an assassination, wasn't it?" Asleena asked carefully. "He was contracted to kill her by someone else."

Zevran shot her a glance as Taelin chuckled humourlessly. "She doesn't know? Rinna was—"

"—_an accident_," Zevran interrupted, his voice harsh.

"You actually sound like you mean that." Taelin tapped a velvet-clad finger against her chin. "Let's discuss it upstairs, shall we? Behind closed doors if you don't want your current woman to hear how you treat those who love you."

Zevran's chair scraped the floor as he pushed it back and stood. His golden-brown eyes were as hard as stone. Taelin rose as well and walked for the stairs, throwing an imperious command to the innkeeper: "I will be making use of an upper room of my choosing. You will be reimbursed when I am done."

Asleena got up and made a grab for Zevran's shoulder as he went to follow, but he twisted reflexively out of the way.

"Zev, wait. What's going on?"

He stopped and looked at her in sudden surprise. "That's the first time you've called me that."

"Don't change the subject. Tell me."

"Zevran," Taelin called impatiently from the stairs.

The assassin let out a long breath, as though preparing himself, but shook his head. "Later. I promise." Then he followed the lady upstairs.

When they had gone, the innkeeper announced in reverent, dazed tones, "Lady Irrenill! In my inn! The future teyrna, in The Dancing Halla!"

Asleena sank slowly back into her chair as a buzz of excited conversation filled the common room. She rubbed Ferrix's head when he voiced a whine of concern. "I know, boy. I'm worried too."

* * *

An hour passed, then another. People began to trickle out into the night or up to their rooms. Asleena had spoken to a few, asking about Taelin, and learned she was visiting Markham with her father. Teyrn Ramvor, Markham's lord, was reportedly smitten with her, but some of the banns were unhappy at the prospect of an Antivan teyrna.

The lady's acceptance that Asleena was a Grey Warden had also affected the room. The innkeeper, after apologising profusely for his manners, waived the fee Ferrix's presence had incurred and promised breakfast free of charge. Some of the patrons had pressed her for details on the Blight in Ferelden and she had obliged them as a way to pass the time.

Finally, when it was so late it was getting early, Asleena got up and approached the innkeeper, clicking her tongue for Ferrix to heel.

"The Lady Irrenill," she said. "Which room did she take?"

"Last one on the right, Warden. The hour is early, though. Perhaps you should not disturb them."

"I'm sure they're just…talking." Asleena stopped. Zevran and a beautiful woman alone in a room together for two hours? Talking? Even with the animosity she'd spotted between them it felt unlikely. "Never mind. Good night."

She was halfway up the wooden stairs when she heard a woman scream.

Instantly the front door of the inn banged open and the pair of guards Taelin had brought were inside. Their appearance was so sudden that it might have been considered suspicious, but Asleena was already charging up the remaining steps and down the corridor, shouldering the last door open when she found it locked and skidding to a halt at the horrific tableau before her.

Moonlight streamed through the large window on her left, a breeze stirred the gauzy curtains. Taelin, naked, her long hair dishevelled, was on the floor in front of the window in a growing pool of blood as she gasped for air, hands clenched around something protruding from her breast. Zevran was practically against the wall beyond her, blades drawn and half-crouched to engage whoever entered the room. He was also unclothed, had blood splashed across his body from shoulder to thigh, and his expression was murderous.

"What—" Asleena began, stepping forward to help Taelin, but Zevran snapped, "_Back!_" with such conviction that she jumped away again. Only a second later a pane of glass shattered inwards. Shards sparkled in the moonlight like stars. There was a solid _thunk_, and a crossbow bolt buried itself in the opposite wall.

Then the pounding of armoured feet and the jingle of mail sounded from the corridor.

Zevran hissed a curse under his breath. "Innocent or not, if they take me I am a dead man. The Crows will see to that."

"Run, Zev," Asleena said quietly, not looking at him. She crouched beside the dying Taelin. "Get out of here while they're reloading. I'll do what I can."

"As will I," the assassin replied grimly. She heard him snatch clothes from the floor, pause a second, then crash through what remained of the window.

Asleena tried to move Taelin into a better position. The woman's blue eyes were hazed with pain and her breathing was shallow. She tried to speak but no words came out…only blood. The wound was mortal. Removing the quarrel would only kill her faster.

Ferrix snarled a warning behind her.

"Call off your dog and unhand Lady Irrenill!"

"Ferrix," Asleena ordered softly, and laid Taelin down.

"Get up and back away."

Asleena obeyed.

One of the guards bent to examine the lady's wound while the other observed Asleena coldly. After only a short while, the first said, "She's dead."

The other's expression did not alter. "By authority of the city I place you under arrest as a potential witness to murder. You will be taken to the palace jails where I'm sure the lady's father, not to mention the teyrn, will wish to speak with you. Will you come quietly, Warden?"

"I will." Asleena nodded once. She looked down at Taelin's corpse and the now-sightless blue eyes. "There will be much to speak of."


	9. Fade to Grey

"_I was wondering where you'd gotten to."_

"_Alistair?"_

"_What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?"_

_Sunlight. Grass. Trees towering towards an azure sky. Stone walls, some fallen into ruin, but the rest standing strong and proud._

_Ostagar._

_Alistair was before her in the armour she'd last seen borne by King Cailan Theirin. He wore a preoccupied expression as he rubbed first at his chin, then his mouth._

"_It's nothing big, is it?" he asked. "I mean, I'm the king! You'd think someone would've told me if I had a giant smudge on my face."_

"_You've got nothing on your face!"_

_His hands froze mid-wipe and he eyed her. "Is this like that time you said Oghren _didn't_ have a piece of chicken stuck in his beard?"_

"_I swear you have nothing on your face. Your face is…perfect."_

"_Oh." He put his arms down. Then he raised a brow and smiled that smile at her. "Perfect, hm?"_

_Her heart caught painfully in her breast as she nodded, drinking in the sight of his beloved features. The last time she'd seen him, really seen him, his face had been a mix of conflicting emotions. He'd been hurt, humiliated before the nobility of Ferelden, denied vengeance on the one he judged responsible for Duncan's death, betrayed by the woman he loved…_

_But here he was, lips curved in a teasing smile, eyes gazing at her in the way that always made her breath want to come faster._

"_Perfect," she whispered. "Alistair, I—"_

* * *

The sound of a heavy iron door slamming open reverberated down the stone corridor, and Asleena started violently awake.

"Maker's breath," she muttered, rubbing her eyes and sitting up on the narrow cot. She hadn't meant to fall asleep at all, especially not in her armour, but right now all she wanted in the world was to go back into the Fade and find Alistair again.

_Damn it all, why can't the man be as easy to find in real life as he is in my dreams?_

There was the tread of boots in the corridor, suggesting that only a single person approached. In one corner of the cell Ferrix sat up. Asleena sighed wearily, leaned her head back against the stone wall and waited. She'd been taken here by one of the guards while the other had been left behind to sort out Taelin Irrenill's body. She didn't know how long it had been, especially since she'd nodded off, and there were no windows for her to hazard an accurate guess on the time beyond 'before dawn'. At least the dungeon itself was a sight better than Fort Drakon's, or the one in which she'd finally slain Rendon Howe. It didn't look like it got much use, which gave her some hope that the teyrn wasn't a sadistic despot.

A distinguished-looking man with short dark hair and a closely-trimmed beard halted on the other side of the bars. His fine black robes were bulky, probably covering some sort of armour, and they bore the emblem of House Irrenill.

"I must apologise on Teyrn Ramvor's behalf," he said without preamble, unlocking the cell. "He is distraught. It took Lord Irrenill longer than expected to convince him that you, at least, are not to blame for this night's bloodshed."

"And you are…?"

"Being impolite. Forgive me." He bowed and opened the door with a flourish. "Xai Merras of the House of Crows, attaché to the House of Irrenill. I have been sent to escort you to his lordship's chambers."

"Dead or alive?"

"Alive, I hope," the Crow replied smoothly. "Please, my lady, I have no wish to duplicate Zevran's mistake of tangling with a Grey Warden. Were I that way inclined I would have already parted ways with my life when your friend Alistair arrived in the city."

Asleena was on her feet at once and Ferrix, who needed no vocal command, came up beside her.

Xai smiled faintly. "I have your attention, I see. I'm pleased."

"Maybe you'd care to tell me what you know," Asleena suggested, emerging from the cell with the mabari on her heels.

"All information has its price, my lady. Speaking of which, how much would you value word of Alistair's current state over Zevran's?"

She let out a slow breath and forced her fists to unclench. He was goading her. No matter how good it might feel to punch this man's teeth halfway down his throat right now, being shoved back into a cell would not get her anywhere. "Cute," she said when she'd relaxed somewhat. "But next time you ask, give me some proof your word would be worth a damn."

Xai chuckled, and Asleena got the feeling she'd either impressed him or made him more cautious of her. Possibly both. "Until next time, then. For now, please come with me."

He led her out of the dungeon, pausing only so she could reclaim her weapons from the guards stationed outside, and upstairs into the more comfortably appointed areas of Markham Keep. Candles lit the corridors, and a glance at the first available window showed it was still dark. There were a fair few guards around, Asleena noticed, and most of them looked more alert than would be common for a regular night patrol.

At length, after a great number of carpeted staircases and passageways, Xai stopped at a door attended by four guards and asked to be admitted.

"Lord Roja Irrenill," the Crow said upon entering, "may I present Lady Asleena Cousland, Grey Warden and Hero of Ferelden."

Taelin's father had the same piercingly blue eyes, but his shoulder-length hair was pale blond and streaked with silver. His face, probably handsome at the best of times, was lined and weary as he rose from behind a large parchment-strewn table, and his robes were black. Asleena came forward and bowed politely, risking a glance around the chamber when her head was down. It was luxuriously furnished, sporting many tapestries and paintings, colourful rugs and potted plants. There were no guards visible.

"Thank you, Xai. Please, leave us."

The assassin inclined his head and withdrew, closing the door.

"Refreshments, my lady? Or do you prefer to be called 'Warden'?"

"Either will be fine, my lord," Asleena replied. "Thank you, I am not thirsty."

_And I have no wish to be poisoned._

"Sit if you wish." Glass clinked as Roja poured himself some deep amber liquid. He resumed his seat, examining both Asleena and Ferrix in turn.

"Your assassin would have me believe I have you to thank for getting me out of the dungeon," Asleena said, choosing to remain on her feet.

"Would he? In that, at least, he told you the truth. Did he say why?"

"Only that you convinced the teyrn that I wasn't involved in the murder of your daughter, my lord."

"I trust this is true?" He watched her calmly and sipped from his glass.

She frowned. "Yes, it's true. I didn't kill Taelin, and neither did Zevran Arainai. She was shot by a crossbowman hiding somewhere outside The Dancing Halla Inn."

"There was a crossbow inside the room where my daughter was found dead."

"Then it wasn't his. He doesn't carry a crossbow, and I'm sure I'd have noticed if Taelin had been toting one around."

"Did you see this mysterious crossbowman, then?"

"No, but as he took a shot at me as well I'm not even going to begin suspecting Zevran. Your people can plant as much evidence as they like."

He snorted at that. "I'm informed that she was also discovered naked. Will you now tell me it was 'my people' who stripped her bare and raped her?"

Asleena pulled up short, glancing away from the raw emotion she could suddenly hear in the man's voice. Maker's breath, what lies had he been told? What had the guards done with Taelin's remains? "My lord," she said carefully, "as to how Taelin was handled after she died I cannot answer."

"And before?" he asked in a voice as soft as silk.

She met his gaze and held it unflinchingly. "Zevran is no rapist, Lord Irrenill," she replied, putting all the belief she could muster behind her words. "If anything happened between her and him before she was shot, I will take any oath you want that it was consensual. She was naked when I found her, but aside from a quarrel through her lung she did not look to me like she had been abused."

Roja threw back the last of his drink in a single swallow. "Zevran's reputation as a seducer is enough for Teyrn Ramvor to judge him worse," he said. "Ramvor is normally a reasonable man, even benevolent, but he was besotted with Taelin. Grief at her death and rage at her mistreatment rule him now. Markham is sealed off and the entire guard is on a manhunt."

Asleena watched him for a moment then sat down on the other side of his desk. "You believe Zevran's innocent?"

"I believe the House of Crows are opportunistic bastards. Judging from your reputation they haven't the numbers here to threaten either you or Zevran. But separated from you? And an entire city looking for him?" He snorted, tossing his glass to the tabletop. It spun a bit before coming to a rest. "It's only a matter of time before your friend slips up, Warden. Xai only has to wait."

"You're saying the Crows killed your daughter to set up Zevran? I thought they served your house!"

Roja's smile was devoid of mirth. "Antivan politics. I will spare you a lecture and say only that where Zevran is concerned it's a matter of honour for the Crows to kill him. Taelin…must have been coerced into seeking him out when Xai learned of your presence." His face crumpled into something between sadness and incomprehension. "I thought I taught that girl better sense…"

Asleena gave him a moment before saying quietly, "She and Zevran seemed to have some history."

"Rinna." Roja shook his head and slumped back into his chair. "Rinna was a dear friend of Taelin's and a frequent attaché to my House while she lived."

"Rinna was a Crow?"

He sighed. "I can tell you little, Warden. Unlike my daughter, I didn't take much interest in the matter and I only know what I do because she was so vocal about it. Zevran and another Crow, Taliesen, killed Rinna during a mission on an assumption she had taken a bribe and betrayed them. They were wrong, and discovered this only after killing the girl." He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "According to Taelin, Rinna was in love with Zevran."

Asleena tried to keep control of her features even as her stomach lurched with a kind of sick pity. So that's what it was about. Had Zevran loved Rinna in return? He wouldn't have killed her if he had, would he? She didn't want to believe it.

"Exactly…how much did Taelin hate Zevran for this, Lord Irrenill?" she asked cautiously. "Could _she_ have set him up?"

"Faugh, she is not so foolish. _Was _not so foolish," he amended angrily. "It was Xai, which brings me to why I brought you here, besides wanting to apologise for the way you were treated, dragged here like a criminal." He poured another glass for himself. "I want Xai. Alive."

"You already have him, from what I saw."

"Not in the manner I wish. I will torture the truth from him, Warden, until it's convincing enough that Teyrn Ramvor will believe that he and not Zevran is my daughter's killer." Noticing her hesitation, he added, "I will give you no other offer. Until Ramvor has Zevran or I have Xai, you could be trapped in Markham for weeks."

"Why can't you just have him seized yourself?" she protested.

"Because he is a Crow," he retorted. "I would not dare. I would not succeed. My guards, those who haven't been bribed and would actually obey such an order, wouldn't stand a chance. There are only six Crows including Xai in my entourage, my lady, but even those few inspire fear.

"You, however," he went on, "have proven the Grey Wardens are not so easily overcome."

"You want me to just trot back out into the corridor and whack him over the head with my sword?" she asked sarcastically.

"Don't be stupid. You try that and the entire guard will turn against you." Roja sipped from his glass. "I've heard you can carve your way through armies of darkspawn, but the majority of men and women in these halls and beyond are just doing their jobs. No. Use some subtlety, Warden. Draw him out, bag him in the city somewhere and bring him to me. I'm sure that once you're back outside Zevran will find you and the two of you can work something out."

"Can't I try talking to the teyrn?"

"It took me hours to convince him _you _were innocent, my lady. If you try to speak to him about Zevran Arainai, who entered Markham as _your _companion, I can't promise he won't have you thrown back into the cells."

"What if Xai was willing to confess?"

"Oh, he will be. Eventually. He'll confess things he was never involved in when I'm through with him."

Asleena pushed her chair back and stood, doing her best to mask the disgust she felt. "I'll consider your proposal."

"I hope so. As a woman who lost both her parents to murder, I thought you might sympathise." He gave her a tiny smile when he saw her tense, but there was no mockery in it, no satisfaction at getting a reaction from her. "Tell me you did not wish bloody retribution of your own, Asleena Cousland, when the pain was still fresh."

_Blood. Darkness. Fire scratching against Highever's walls like claws. And bodies…so many bodies…so many faces she knew and had grown up with, eyes staring, faces frozen in terror. Her sister-in-law and nephew slaughtered. Ser Gilmore's courage. Her father's pain, her mother's anguish. And Duncan pulling her away, counselling her that vengeance would have to wait when all she wanted to do was burst outside again and hack and chop and slice until the agony and fury in her soul burned out or consumed her._

"I will…consider your proposal."

He inclined his head towards the door. "Ask and any without will escort you from the keep. Xai will almost certainly shadow you; where you go, Zevran will eventually turn up."

"You make it sound like he'll take a shot as soon as an opportunity presents itself."

"I doubt he will be so direct. A word in the right ear, however, may have any number of guards breathing down your necks." He lifted his glass to her. "Good hunting, Warden."

Asleena nodded shortly and left the room with Ferrix. The first person she saw when the door opened was Xai leaning against the opposite wall, waiting.

"Are you ready to return to the city, my lady?" he asked after the door closed. "I am available to escort you."

"Aren't you being a little obvious?" Asleena asked.

"Say the word, Warden, and you will see no more of me." The assassin smiled and pushed off from the wall. "I find people are usually more comfortable when I am in plain sight. Looking over one's shoulder all the time can't be good for the neck." He motioned down the hall and they began walking.

After some minutes of silent progress, Asleena glanced at him. "You're not going to try and tempt me again with news of Alistair?"

"Not yet," he said with a serene smile. "You require more solid evidence that my information is reliable, I think. Very wise of you, very inconvenient for me. When I have acquired something of his we will speak again, unless, of course, you wish to speak sooner. Zevran's location for Alistair's will be a fair deal in my eyes."

Asleena shook her head and kept walking until they emerged from the keep into a chilly pre-dawn gloom. Her breath steamed in the air as she surveyed the city stretched out before her, wondering where in Thedas to begin.

"I suggest an inn," Xai said from behind her. "You look all done in. People make mistakes when they're tired." He was removing the rich black robe and motioning for an elf boy to come and take it. Beneath the garment he wore mottled grey leather armour and a pair of blades. Giving Asleena a grin, he added, "I'll be seeing you around, Warden," and strode past her into the city, where he was quickly gone from view.


	10. Shadows and Veils

_Author's note: Due to odd upload issues with the site, I hope you will forgive the slight delay in this posting. I would also like to take the opportunity to thank everyone who's been reading, and especially those who take a little time to write a review. :) I hope you're enjoying the ride!_

* * *

It was not a good time to be an elf in Markham City.

Zevran watched as a patrol of guards in the square accosted a pair of his kin. Both faces were grabbed by less-than-gentle hands, turned from side to side then shoved away. One of the guards made a display of wiping his hands on his leggings, to the amusement of his fellows and the anger of one of the elves. Neither of them stood up for themselves, however, which was probably just as well—they were not in the alienage and would get no help from the passing humans. Or Zevran, for that matter.

And Asleena was nowhere to be seen yet.

Zevran continued to wait as he had for the past hour, consciously tensing and relaxing his muscles every so often to prevent cramps, and kept a close watch on everything and everyone around the Chantry.

This was the only place he was sure she would eventually come to, and it was close to sunset. He had not been willing to risk seeking her out, so he'd spent his night and day as a wanted criminal doing the things he did best: sneaking around, slitting throats, and convincing some beautiful women he was welcome in their home (and _more_ than welcome in other areas). Zevran was, to put it in other words, in his element, even enjoying himself to some extent—or so he tried to convince himself. It was better than dwelling on other things.

She walked right past him then, Ferrix as always by her side. Zevran remained still, sent a rare prayer to the Maker that the warhound would not scent him, and breathed an inward sigh of relief when the pair continued on towards the Chantry without even glancing at his place of concealment. Being careful not to move his head too much or too quickly, Zevran looked for any stalking Crows and found one without much effort—a female elf following at a distance. That would be the decoy. He lifted his eyes to the vantage point he would have selected were he bound to the rooftops and was rewarded with a brief flicker of movement into the shadow of a stone gargoyle. Conveniently enough, this put Zevran in a nice little blind spot for that particular watcher.

The elf Crow passed him by and headed for the knot of guards, who viewed her approach with a mixture of apprehension and dislike. Zevran smiled tightly and returned his attention to Asleena as she spoke to the Templars, trying to get a good idea of her current state. She was making an effort to appear determined but he could tell, even from this distance, that she was exhausted. The woman had probably neither slept nor eaten all day, if only due to the fact that she had no money on her. This would change very soon.

There was a boy begging for alms not far away; Zevran had dropped several coins into his bowl earlier to ensure this would be so. Now he motioned the child over, deposited a pair of silvers then showed him a sparkle of gold.

"And now, my young friend, that job I promised. Do you see the lady in red armour speaking with the Templars at the Chantry door? I wish you to circle around the square to about…that point there, then take this pouch to her. See? There is only a little silver within and a scrap of worthless paper. Return here when you are done and you will find this gold coin hidden where I sit. Cheat me and you will find nothing. Are we agreed?"

The boy grinned, nodded, took the pouch and started swiftly around the outskirts of the square as Zevran had indicated. The former Crow rose slowly, letting the filthy horse-blanket that had covered him fall. He tucked the gold coin into the rag nest, waited only long enough to be sure Asleena had the pouch in her hands, then slipped away into the evening shadows.

* * *

"Your friend Alistair did come here, Warden. One of the others said he was interested in the Chanter's Board, took a couple of jobs a week or so ago and that's the last they saw of him."

Asleena looked from the Templar to his younger companion, trying to figure out if she was being deceived. Random stories about Alistair had started sprouting like mushrooms, and biting at any of them was bound to take her on just as wild a trip. She had eagerly followed a few leads earlier in the day before catching on to the conspiracy. The net result, of course, was that even if she did find real news of Alistair she had no way of separating truth from fiction except intuition…or jumping after every rumour she heard, which would drive her insane.

Xai's work. If Alistair was in Markham, the assassin was making sure she'd never find him without a Crow to point the way.

"What jobs did he take?" Asleena asked.

"There were two," the Templar said. "The first pertained to a problem near Ostwick in the south, something to do with cannibals initially, but Alistair reported the true threat was a Hunger Demon possession."

So far, that was the most damn convincing story she'd heard all day. "Is he still in the city?"

"We don't know, Warden." The Templar smiled apologetically. "We don't guard the city gates."

"…_sod._" She rubbed her eyes and sighed. "All right. Please…anything else?"

"He stated he would make the trip to the Circle Tower at Starkhaven, but he took another job, like I said—a local one based in the alienage. As it has not been completed he may yet be in Markham." He nodded towards the Chanter's Board. "It's still on display. The only one concerning elves, except for this murder business."

"Your other friend, the elf you had with you yesterday. That was Zevran Arainai?" the other Templar asked.

She nodded. "And innocent, believe it or not."

He looked troubled. "I suppose time will tell whether or not that matters, Warden."

Asleena nodded, thanked them and walked back down the steps, glancing around the square as she did. This was the last place she had any hope of glimpsing Zevran, but with all the guards singling out elves and her occasional Crow sighting she could feel that hope dwindling. More often than not she caught sight of Xai…or she thought she did. He was never there when she looked twice, and it was wearing on her already frayed nerves. She was becoming paranoid that if she _did _find Zevran it would only be to lead him into a trap.

She headed for the Chanter's Board. Even if it didn't help her locate Alistair, she might as well take a job herself so she could buy some food, not to mention a room for the night. Having left everything she didn't need back in Denerim with Fergus, she didn't have much on her she particularly wanted to sell.

"Lady?" a child's piping voice called hesitantly.

It was one of several street urchins she'd seen around. Young, brown-haired and carrying a small wooden bowl. Currently his wide dark eyes were fixed on Ferrix, who stood just as tall as he and was looking straight back at him.

"Ferrix won't hurt you," Asleena said, crouching beside the mabari and ruffling his ears. "If you're after money, though, I'm afraid I don't—"

The boy pulled a leather pouch from his clothes and held it out to her. "I have to give this to you."

Asleena took it, casting a quick glance towards some distant guards. They and a leather-armoured elf woman were watching her closely. "Who's this from?" she asked the boy, pulling the drawstrings open, but he only shrugged.

Silver coins. And a note.

Feeling the eyes still on her, she stood up, dropped a coin into the child's bowl and turned away. Approaching the Chanter's Board, she tried to unfold the piece of parchment within the darkness of the pouch so she could read it without risk.

The writing was cramped, but she could make it out:

'_To prove it is me, I still want to know who gave me that bath. If it was Ferrix I will never forgive you.'_

_'Eat something. Visit a few brothels to ask after Alistair. Finish at The Silver Veil in the merchant quarter. I will be there.'_

_'Destroy this note quickly.'_

Asleena's grin at the opening line became a puzzled frown. "Destroy…?"

There was a disturbance behind her. Guards were closing in with purposeful expressions, pushing through the citizens coming to or from the Chantry. The elf woman had vanished completely.

_Uh oh._

Asleena crumpled the note in her fist and closed the pouch. Were she a mage she could have set the parchment aflame with a thought. There would be fire within the Chantry, but she'd have to run people over to make it there, and the note was too small to tear up effectively enough to destroy…

She knelt in front of Ferrix and opened her hand. "Sorry to ask this of you, boy, but I promise that if you eat this right now I'll buy you the best steak I can afford for dinner tonight."

"Warden! You have stolen property upon your…oh."

Asleena made a face at the ropey strands of slobber hanging from her fingers and rubbed her warhound's head in an effort to try and dislodge some of it. Looking up at the chagrined faces of the guards, she smiled cheerfully. "I have a bit of silver, but I don't think the Crows will be interested."

One of the men inspected the pouch when she tossed it over, shook his head and threw it back. "Forget it," he said in a resigned voice after giving Ferrix a very long look. "We don't get paid enough to poke through dog crap. The assassins can have that pleasure." With a gesture, he led his squad away.

Ferrix stuck his nose in Asleena's ear and she laughed for the first time that day, hugging him exuberantly around the neck. "Good boy."

* * *

The Silver Veil was an expensive brothel that bordered on being palatial. There were white marble pillars and floaty silk curtains, the floors were patterned and polished stone tiles all in shades of grey and glittering with flecks of some silver mineral. The arched windows were large enough to flood the main room with light during the hours of day, but with the sun set a vast array of white candles had been lit, some in sconces, others in hanging chandeliers. This filled the chamber with a warm glow, and every metallic surface glittered gold.

Zevran had picked the location for reasons other than aesthetics. First of all, the brothel was exclusive enough to have its own protection, and the guards were very well paid. Secondly, part of The Silver Veil's charm was the clothes its employees could wear. The brothel prided itself on an element of mystique, so many of the whores selected garments that completely concealed their features. It had proven a popular enough characteristic that a number of dedicated clients came similarly disguised when they visited.

Asleena came dressed in her armour.

In retrospect, perhaps he should have given her additional money to buy some new clothes. Zevran smiled behind his mask, observing the Grey Warden's faintly uncomfortable expression as she looked around. Ferrix paced on her right while Valinay, one of the owners of the Veil and a gorgeous redhead into the bargain, walked on her left.

"I should warn you," Valinay was saying, "that once you've enjoyed the attentions of one of our artists you may forget this 'Alistair' of yours. We have hot scented baths, the softest beds you could ask for, and skilled hands to rub the tension from your muscles."

With a clap of the mistress's hands, a dozen white-clothed men and women not presently occupied with clients rose from the scattered divans and drifted silently into line. Asleena's face became a little more uneasy when she appraised the gathering and failed to find Zevran's face, but she approached one end of the line and began a slow walk past each prostitute. They issued a small bow in turn, murmuring a few select words.

"Your desire, my lady," Zevran said when she reached him, inclining his head. She paused briefly, continued to the end of the line with unhurried steps, then returned to Valinay, who smiled at her.

"Do any of them please you, my lady?"

Asleena nodded and pointed at Zevran. "That one."

"Then he is yours."

The others workers moved away from him and he bowed again, more deeply this time, and extended a white-gloved hand towards her. Asleena took it, and he led her across the polished floor to one of the bedrooms in the back. As soon as the door was closed and he'd removed his mask, he was surprised to find her arms around him.

"Thank the Maker you're all right," she said, hugging him fiercely.

"Indeed," he replied, sliding one hand around her waist and smoothing her hair with the other. "I'm thanking Him very hard right now."

She pulled away at that, wearing an expression both exasperated and amused, but her voice was concerned. "Were you hurt? You got away all right?"

"I am fine, but I saw the state of Taelin's body when they removed it from The Dancing Halla. _You _came to no harm?" he asked, frowning at her.

She looked sickened, but shook her head. "They didn't touch me. You've been accused of rape as well as murder, though."

"Yes. The reward for my capture is almost as handsome as I am." He motioned her deeper into the room and she followed after telling Ferrix to remain by the door.

It wasn't a large chamber, but the size of the bed made up for that. There was a fire dancing in the hearth and a white fur resting before it. On a small silverwood table rested a bowl of fruit, a pitcher of water and a bottle of wine, along with two glasses. There were a few windows set high near the ceiling, but they were too small for any but the exceptionally slender to climb through.

"Bad place to be cornered," Asleena commented, sinking into a chair by the table.

Zevran chuckled as he unwound the head-wrap that concealed his hair and pointed ears. "There is a whore-hole—a quick exit in the case of unruly customers. I trust you will be gentle with me."

"I hope you weren't expecting—"

"I always hope, but no. I would never expect anything of you that you do not wish to give. I can offer you that massage again, however, and before you ask…_just _the massage. You look like you could use one." He gestured towards the bed in silent invitation.

"After we talk I just might take you up on that. As it is, the moment I lie down I'm going to fall asleep." She hesitated. "How long am I meant to stay? How much will this cost?"

"Never fear. You are expected to stay all night and I will leave you enough coin to pay in the morning."

"That much, hm?" She smiled slightly. "Pay here must be good. Thinking of changing professions?"

"Hah…no. I have no wish to go back to this life, pleasurable though it can be at times." He took the other chair and opened the wine. "To business then. Have you discovered who's running this show?"

"All signs currently point to a Crow named Xai…Merras, I believe his last name was. Do you know anything about him?"

"Xai Merras is a master assassin. The Crows often take an interest in political marriages outside Antiva, usually to ensure they take place. I am guessing his priorities changed." Zevran poured the wine, a pale gold concoction, and handed one glass to Asleena.

"You don't sound worried," she noted. "If he's a master assassin isn't he better than you?"

"For shame, Asleena." He motioned with his glass, maintaining a confident smile for her benefit. "Xai Merras, like most of the masters, considers himself a craftsman. Any mark can be killed, but it is the manner of death, how it is brought about, which supposedly defines skill. Personally I find such methods inefficient. Death is death. Why complicate it with smoke and mirrors unless it is necessary?" He shrugged and took a sip of his wine. "He enjoys challenge, misdirection, and using others to achieve his goals."

She watched him from over the rim of her glass. "Like Taelin? She was involved, wasn't she?"

He cocked his head at her. "Who told you that?"

"No one. Her father denied she'd do such a thing, but I remembered hearing her scream at the inn, and that crossbow bolt looked like it had gone through a lung." Asleena paused. "That kind of injury would have made it hard for her to draw enough air to cry out, Zev, which means she signalled the attack. Her guards were pretty quick to react too, now that I think back."

"Well, you are right. She was involved, but I can't say if she expected to die. Alive she might have made a fairly convincing 'witness'."

"Why kill her then?"

"It may have been an accident. Shooting through glass can be tricky." Zevran thought a moment. "Or maybe Master Xai simply preferred to run the game his way rather than depend on the lies of another. That would seem more likely to me."

"Perhaps. Either way, Taelin must have hated you pretty badly to risk something like that." She looked him straight in the eye, and for some reason he found himself unable to meet her gaze for long. "About Rinna—"

"Asleena," he began, "I know I promised I would tell you—"

"I won't hold you to that." She held her glass between both hands, staring down at it now. "If you ever _want _to talk about it, then I'll be here. I just thought I should warn you I heard a version of what happened from Taelin's father. I have to tell you everything I heard if we're going to decide what to do."

Zevran let her explain what had happened in Markham's keep, everything she'd seen and heard, without interruption. He betrayed no emotion even when she reached the part about Rinna, which was accurate enough that he saw no need to elaborate for now. The only time he let his interest show was at Roja's proposal of capturing and torturing Xai.

"That is an intriguing idea," he said when she'd finished.

"Do I need to tell you I don't approve of torture?"

"No, but you would not be the torturer. Your hands would be completely clean, yes?"

"Delivering him to _be _tortured amounts to the same thing," she said severely. "It's not right. I don't care how repulsive the man is."

"Then you have another plan?"

"I was hoping you'd be able to help me with that."

Zevran let out a sigh. "Has it ever occurred to you that there might be a certain breed of person who deserves worse than torture?"

She scowled at him. "You're actually going to try and talk me into this?"

"Rendon Howe. If you'd had the chance, my dear, would you not have tortured him?"

"We'll never know, will we?"

"You despised Howe because he betrayed, murdered, even had people tortured. Xai Merras does the same, but not out of any desires of ambition. Assassination to him is a joy, a game, not a job."

"So? Does that mean I have to resort to their methods to get anywhere?"

Zevran leaned towards her, meeting her frown with an intense gaze. "There is a teaching among the Crows that he aspires to:

'For the true hunter, it is the chase and not the kill.

'For the true trapper, it is rumour and half-truth, not steel and spring.

'For the true poisoner, it is the mixture of words, not reagents.

'For the true stalker, it is the blinding light, not the concealing shadows.

'For the master assassin, death by your own blade is simple; death by another's is art; death by their own is glory.'

"That is the kind of man we are dealing with, Asleena."

"A sodding nutter?" She took a swallow of wine and set the glass down. "I get it. He's a bastard. But I don't like this. There are some boundaries _I_ don't want to cross, even as a Grey Warden." She sat quietly for a moment, looking at nothing, then reached up and started unbuckling her armour. "If you don't mind, I need to sleep on this. No massage. I'm just…not in the mood."

He hid his disappointment and nodded. "As you wish. Whatever you decide, we still have to _catch _Xai. I will try to think of something good while you rest."

A few minutes later, she was already fast asleep in the great bed. Zevran wasted a few moments gazing down on her then poured himself more wine. Asleena's compassion and mercy were two traits he owed his life to after his dubious attempt on her life so long ago, and here he was trying to break holes in those virtues. She had limits on whom she spared, but if she chose to mete out justice it was always cold and quick, never cruel. Even Howe's death had been swifter than the one she'd claimed to have wanted for him.

She had already killed innocents to save Zevran. Now this happened. What else would she do for his sake? What would he turn her into?


	11. Bathing

Asleena sank into the marble-tiled bath with a contented sigh. If there was one creature comfort she missed from home, it was large amounts of hot water. On the road one had to make do—a stream, melted snow, a bucket and cloth, and there was never much in the way of privacy. Since it was stupid to go ducking under the water alone, back in Ferelden she and her friends had gone in teams. Usually that had meant she, Morrigan, Leliana and Wynne in one group, Alistair, Zevran, Sten and Oghren in the other. As the Blight had progressed, however, she and Alistair had eventually…formed their own group.

A smile stole across her lips at the memory.

* * *

"A bath?" Leliana looked artfully surprised. "Oh, Asleena…Morrigan and Wynne and I, we have already bathed this evening! There is a beautiful fall further up the stream, just right for washing the suds out."

"You…you three went without me? When?"

"While you and Alistair were cooking. It was delicious, by the way."

"I'm glad you liked it, but they must be able to smell me all the way over in Antiva City by now. I _really _wanted a bath."

"You two just seemed to be having so much fun, I did not wish to interrupt!"

"We did?"

"You were _giggling_, Asleena."

She flushed. "I was not."

"You were! And so was he." Leliana grinned impishly. "I could still come with you if you want to bathe, of course, but I rather thought you might enjoy other company on a beautiful night like this. It is very romantic, no?"

Asleena's blush deepened. "I…suppose…"

"My dear ladies," Zevran's voice almost purred as he wandered up from nearby. "Leliana, whatever did you say to make our fair leader look so…charmingly flustered?"

"We were discussing the possibility of her bathing with Alistair tonight, Zevran," the bard said with an arch smile.

"Leliana!" Asleena gasped, but Zevran broke out into open laughter.

"If you haven't done that yet, Asleena, you really should," the assassin said, grinning broadly. "Bath-sex can be quite enjoyable. The water will not feel cold for long, I promise, and everything is wet, and—"

"Maker, I can't believe you two. _Bath-sex_? Are you…serious?"

"Deadly serious," Zevran replied, while Leliana just laughed.

"Um." Asleena fiddled with her folded towel and looked over at the campfire where Alistair, who'd once again fallen prey to a pair of large brown eyes, was cutting up some leftover meat for Ferrix. "I don't know if he'd…I mean…what do I say?"

"You will think of something, I'm sure," Leliana said.

Asleena turned away from the two grinning rogues and began a hesitant approach to Alistair, clutching her scrubbing brush and towel like a sword and shield. She hadn't the faintest idea what words to use, and didn't know why. They'd been sharing blankets and bedrolls for weeks now, so why should the idea of a bath feel so…scary?

"Love, are you all right?" Alistair asked, and she almost jumped. He got up at once, looking at her with concern. "What's wrong?"

"The others…bathed without me."

_Oh Maker, just strike me down with lightning right now._

"Oh." Alistair relaxed noticeably and smiled. "Afraid of going alone, hm? I suppose it's gotten pretty dark, but Shale and Ferrix should be enough protection."

Asleena glanced past him where Ferrix had taken advantage of Alistair's distraction and was wolfing down heroic mouthfuls of sliced venison. "Protection…right. Um. What if there are darkspawn?"

He blinked at her. "You're a Grey Warden, remember? You'll be able to sense—"

"I've been having trouble with that whole sensing thing lately," she lied. "Still haven't gotten the hang of it. I think I need you to come as well. To protect me."

"Should I get my armour—?"

"No, you're good. Come on. Ferrix!"

Taking the bewildered man's hand, she led him quickly out of the clearing and ignored the sounds of hilarity coming from Zevran and Leliana's direction. The trees of the Brecilian Forest obscured the light of the campfire almost immediately, and before long they had reached the banks of a shallow stream that rushed over water-smoothed stones. The tributary grew wider and deeper upriver where a modestly sized waterfall cascaded down a rise of rocks. Moonlight struck glints against the rippling pool and turned the misted spray of water into a cloud.

"Are you sure we shouldn't have brought Shale along as well?" Alistair asked uncomfortably, his eyes averted and ears reddening as she pulled off a boot to test the water with her toes.

"Pretty sure. Why?"

"Well…it's just…I don't know how well I'm going to be able to…" he cleared his throat. "…keep watch. With you…you know..."

"Bathing?"

"I was going to go for 'naked'. 'Naked' and 'wet', but yes, _bathing_. That's the word I was after." He folded his arms and stared resolutely into the forest.

Perversely, his discomfit was making her feel more confident. Smiling to herself, she shucked out of her clothes and waded into the water, gasping and shuddering at the cold, until she reached a deep enough part to duck under the surface. With a few lazy strokes she reached the tumbling fall and let it splash down on her head and shoulders. Slicking her hair back, she peered through the curtain of water to where Alistair stood on shore.

"I left my scrubbing brush with my towel!" she called over the noise of the falls.

"Then come get it!" he called back.

"Can't you get it for me? Please?"

She saw him throw his hands up then turn to the rock she'd left her clothes and towel on. "Where did you get a scrubbing brush, anyway?"

"I bought it in Denerim. Oh, I'm over here!" She waved.

"You're right under the waterfall!" he protested. "If I go that close my clothes will get all damp. Then they'll get mildewy. I really _like_ this shirt."

"Then take it off. Take everything off."

It was impossible to see his expression in the dark, but she could practically hear the thoughts churning in his head as he stared in her direction. Setting the brush down, he unbuttoned his shirt, folded it carefully, then tugged off his belt and scabbard, boots and trousers. He strode into the water, every step measured, the pale light carving his body in marble until he reached the place where the forested cliff obscured the moon. When he came to the spot where she stood, cloaked by the stream running over her shoulders, his eyes were full of the night. Mist shone in his hair and across his shoulders and chest.

"I…left the brush with your towel," he said with a sheepish smile, reaching out to tease a wayward tendril of hair back behind her ear. In a deeper, softer voice he added, "I hope you're not too upset."

For answer, she slid both arms around his neck, smiled, and pulled him under the waterfall.

* * *

"Lost in thought, my lady?"

Asleena's eyes snapped open and she spun, splashing water and foam as she thrust away from the speaker and snatching up the dagger she'd kept to hand.

The white-garbed figure behind her lifted his veil, revealing the face of Xai Merras.

_That's the second time you've interrupted a very nice dream, you bastard._

"Your weapon is unnecessary, Warden," the Crow said, seemingly unperturbed. "I only came to give you that evidence I promised." He held out a large rounded bundle, shook the cloth open and stood back as something metallic fell to the tiled floor with a loud clatter.

Alistair's helmet.

"Give me Zevran," Xai said quietly, tucking the bag away and crouching before her. "He is an oath-breaker, willing to turn on even those he claims to care for. Surely you know this by now. Give me Zevran and I will give you your Grey Warden friend."


	12. Traps

Ferrix was agitated.

The warhound scratched at the door. When this failed to make it open, he put his nose down to the small gap near the floor and huffed. After another scrape with his paw he trotted over to Zevran and whined urgently.

"I know. Believe me." The assassin smeared a coating of poison along the length of his sword, being careful to get none on his skin. It left a rainbow sheen on the metal. "Never fear, they are not after her. Not in that way, at least."

Ferrix whimpered and sat, looking anxiously to the door then back to Zevran.

"Of course I worry," he replied. "What, you think just because we met when I tried to kill her that I don't care?"

The dog growled, but it trailed off towards the end into another plaintive whine.

"I can see why you'd say that. For your information, I care quite a bit." Zevran stoppered the bottle and stowed it safely away. "And don't give me that look," he added sourly. "I know what I'm doing."

He should have left before dawn. That had been his intention: to leave another note and slip away before the net tightened around him. He didn't want to acknowledge why he'd remained—_she _was not the one being hunted, and with Ferrix keeping watch she would have been safe. Staying at all had been unwise, but he'd made a worse mistake by falling asleep in his chair in the early hours of the morning when fatigue had finally caught up with him. He had woken scant seconds before Asleena herself, and berated himself angrily both for dropping his guard and letting his mind be addled by trivialities like _affection. _He should have learned by now, after Rinna, that such emotion was a dangerous thing…and so easily turned into a weapon. That was one of the very reasons why the Crows were trained to be cold of heart.

Ferrix returned to the door, casting another beseeching look at Zevran when it remained closed.

Zevran narrowed his eyes at it, just as he had the window in The Dancing Halla.

* * *

"They're out there," Taelin confirmed, drawing the filmy curtains closed. "There's always at least one of your ilk flapping around. I find I have less liking for them since Rinna was killed...none of them thought it was particularly important she'd been murdered by one of her own."

Zevran closed the door and latched it. "She said she was assigned to your house on occasion."

"Often enough that we got to know each other well." Taelin faced him across the dappled moonlight illuminating the floor. "I've had few friends, Zevran Arainai. It's not considered politically or socially correct for a lady of my standing to _have _friends below her station, and anyone deemed acceptable in Antiva is only ever after something." She paused, watching him in the dimness. "She loved you. The way she spoke of you, tales of your many successes, admiration of your wit and charm and skills as a lover…she loved you. How could you and that whoreson Taliesin kill her?" she spat.

Zevran's jaw clenched. "We thought she had betrayed us. Taliesin said she had taken a bribe—"

"Spare me. You just believe everything Taliesin says? Why take his word over hers?" Taelin walked towards him slowly, the light casting shifting shapes across her blue dress. "You were _afraid _of her, Zevran, of her feelings for you."

"What do you want to hear?" he demanded angrily. "That I am sorry? I am. I wanted to _die _for what I did to her."

Taelin raised an elegant brow, still drawing closer like a cat stalking prey. "For an assassin, you did a remarkably poor job of killing yourself. Funny, considering such good work you did on Rinna. A blade across the throat, I'm told. An unpleasant death, that, unable to breathe—"

"Stop." Useless to claim the actual killing stroke had been Taliesin's. Zevran was just as guilty for condoning it, for _laughing _while it had happened. Familiar pain squeezed his chest and he strove to keep his wits about him. He'd known that following this woman would mean facing accusations, making himself vulnerable to what would certainly be a trap.

"Stop?" Taelin echoed. "I think not." She stepped nearer and glared straight into his eyes. "I still have at least one more dagger to twist in your heart."

He allowed himself to be backed right up against the door and prepared himself, confident he could prevent any attack she attempted to make. "And the first one is?" he prompted quietly, ready.

She leaned closer, angling to his left to put her lips near his ear as she whispered the poisonous word: "_Forgiveness."_

She began kissing him then, and he concentrated one part of his attentions on responding, his eyes and senses alert in case she went for one of his blades, his hands busy searching her for hidden weapons of her own. This was aided somewhat by her assistance in shedding clothing, and the one blade she had on her person, a jewelled poniard strapped to her calf, was easily divested. By then they were drifting towards the bed, and Zevran, still cautious, was careful to steer them both around the pool of moonlight even though she had been the one to close the curtains. His sword and dagger he placed beyond her reach, but close enough that they were to hand. His armour fell to the floor by the bed, and then she was pressing against him, skin sliding against skin, lips whispering in his ear once more.

"_Show me why she loved you_."

And Zevran obliged.

Much later, both satiated and lying close together on the bed and the tangled sheets, she murmured, "Rinna's stories didn't do you justice."

Zevran chuckled softly, but did not reply. He contented himself by running a lazy hand through her hair and across her soft shoulder. He was not sure he wished to speak right now, which was a rarity for him. His wariness had faded, not completely of course, but a large portion of his soul hungered for this to be…real…and he did not wish to ruin it by saying something careless. He would never have forgiveness from Rinna, could never forgive himself, but if Taelin, her friend, could absolve him? Perhaps…perhaps then that wound could finally start to heal.

"Is Taliesin still around?" she asked presently.

Zevran almost asked if Taelin intended to repeat this process on him, but caught himself in time. "Alas, no. Taliesin was killed on a mission in Ferelden."

No need to tell her the full truth of the matter, and she seemed content with the answer he gave. _Pleased _even. All of a sudden his misgivings began to stir.

She rolled over to face him. "And the woman downstairs? The Warden? I saw how you acted around her, not wanting her to know your sordid past." Taelin's blue eyes studied his features, watching for any reaction. "What is she to you?"

"Why do you wish to know?" he riposted.

"Why should you fear to answer?"

When he said nothing, she pulled away and rose from the bed. He sat up in case she went for one of the weapons, but she passed them by and walked naked to the curtains, which she threw back to admit the full light of the moon. Zevran got to his feet then, slowly, keeping close to the bed and wall so that the angle from his position to whoever might lurk on the other side of the street would make him an impossible target.

Perhaps she just wanted to look at the night sky. She had not jumped out of the way.

He wanted to believe that. He really did.

"The truth is, you are a coward, Zevran Arainai," Taelin said, staring out the window. "Afraid to love, afraid to live, afraid to die. What forgiveness does one such as you deserve?"

"I am guessing then," he said softly, taking a stranglehold on his fury and disappointment and forcing them away, making himself cold, "that forgiveness is no longer on offer. Why waste time with this, my dear lady, if you despise me so?"

"One last night." She shrugged. "For me. For you. For both of us, maybe." Turning her back to the glass, she leaned against the sill and looked at him. "Or perhaps I am just entertained to think I succeeded in convincing you that a monster like yourself can come within a hundred leagues of redemption." She smiled humourlessly. "Forget the Warden, then. Did you love Rinna?"

Again he could not reply. His tongue stuck in his throat.

Taelin took a shaky breath. Tears glinted in her eyes. "I thought as much. I doubt…you even know what love is." Her breath was coming faster, propelled by fear and adrenalin, and he finally knew why she hadn't tried to kill him. "Sacrifice…is said to be the highest form of love, you know? Giving your life to save another. You _could _redeem yourself, Zevran, by taking my place at this window."

"Vengeance is not worth your life," he said, finding his voice at last. "Rinna would not want this. Do not be a fool."

"What Rinna _wanted _was you," Taelin snarled. "And she got betrayal." She shook her head. "Call it vengeance if you will. I prefer justice."

"I already sought justice. She…decided against execution."

"I wonder if 'she' will spare you a second time."

* * *

Ferrix snuffled at the door and the lock clicked, jerking Zevran back to the present. He got up, blades in hand but lowered. The mabari's short tail was wagging so he already knew it would be Asleena on the other side. Sure enough, when the door opened she was standing there.

But behind her, throwing him a smile as he lowered a white veil, was Xai Merras. He had already stepped out of view before the door fully closed.

"You _did _see—" he began, and stopped when Asleena nodded. Then he noticed the silverite helmet in her hands, one he recognised. "And he brought you bait."

"He did."

"I hope I impressed upon you, my dear, the fact that he cannot be trusted?"

"At all?" she asked.

Zevran made an impatient noise. "I'm sure if you were one of his superiors he would tell you anything you wished. One does not earn the rank of a master assassin amongst the Antivan Crows without proving oneself unswervingly loyal to the chain of command."

She turned the helmet over in her hands, a thoughtful look suddenly in her eyes as though some decision weighed heavily on her mind. Zevran resisted the impulse to press her, but started to worry she might be giving serious consideration to Xai's manipulations.

What the heart wanted…the mind could twist all logic to make the irrational seem plausible.

"You trust me, right?" she asked finally, and his heart fell to hear those words from her lips.

"With my life."

"We are going to Markham Keep. I will be taking you as my prisoner." She smiled then, and there was that special something in her face that always served to reassure him. "I have a plan."

"Indeed?" Zevran's lips twitched in amusement. "Well. There is rope under the bed. I had hoped to use it for more recreational purposes…" He sighed theatrically and extended his arms before himself, wrists together. "I suppose this will have to do."

"Hmph. When I drag you out there, do me a favour and try not to look like you're enjoying yourself so much."


	13. Glory and Justice

_Ah, Zevran…what mess have you gotten yourself into today, hm?_

The assassin had no trouble feeling worried, an emotion he masked with a sardonic half-smile as the Grey Warden, holding one end of the rope that bound his wrists, led him through the streets. She had taken his sword and off-hand dagger but none of the other weapons she knew he had secreted about his person. The knots securing him were good but nothing he couldn't escape if he put his mind to it. Asleena even had Duncan's shield strapped to her left arm, and when he'd asked if that was for his protection or to display the griffon emblem of the Grey Wardens she had smiled her appreciation of the observation and said: "Both."

Their escort of city guards did not daunt him; if any attacked he had no doubts Asleena would free him and that they, with Ferrix, could tear a bloody swath to the gates if they wanted to. He was starting to hope they _would _draw steel. A rousing good fight would release some of the tension and make their course quite clear.

There were at least three Crows travelling with them in various guises, two elves and a human who was not Xai. Zevran could not see the master assassin anywhere. This did not bother him much either, as he didn't believe any of them would act while he was in Asleena's custody in case her wrath came down on their heads.

No. What worried him was why she hadn't told him what her plans were.

"_Because you might disagree or talk me out of it. You said you trusted me, remember?"_

He did trust her, as much as his assassin instincts screamed that he was a fool for doing so. The smart course of action would have been slip out of the city entirely (he _could _have managed it, he was sure) and wait out the lockdown. She would have emerged eventually, probably unscathed…maybe even with Alistair at her side.

_And what would you have done then, Zevran? Approached and begged pardon for having abandoned her? Expressed happiness they had found one another?_

He brushed these thoughts aside as unimportant. What was done was done. He was here with her, unlike Alistair. He had not left her.

The shadow of Markham Keep blocked out the sun as they neared the gates. Their escort passed them on to another patrol within the grounds, and the three Crows came with them, now openly displaying who they were and all watching Zevran with cautious eyes. He smirked at them in reply. Asleena had mentioned there being six Crows in total with the Irrenill entourage, and it had been Zevran who'd reduced this number to four on that first bloody morning. If only today could be so simple.

"Warden," a guard captain who'd approached Asleena said. "We will show you to the jails. This murderer can wait behind bars until the teyrn is ready to speak with him, but you and your…ah…your dog…are to be shown every courtesy."

Asleena drew herself up and assumed the authoritative voice Zevran had heard so often back in Ferelden. "I would prefer to speak with the teyrn myself, with Zevran present. Until he is formally judged he will remain with me. I hope that does not mean I will have to revisit the dungeon?"

The captain looked uneasy. "I pray that will not be necessary, Warden. I must, however, question your desire to bring so dangerous a man into the presence of our lord. I am sure you can keep him on his leash, but it would be safer and more comfortable for everyone if he was locked up during your audience."

"I disagree."

He stared at her helplessly and shook his head with a sigh. "Very well, then. I hope I need not tell you that we will take action if the assassin gets loose." He motioned to his companions and they formed up around the woman, elf and mabari.

Zevran edged closer to Asleena and murmured, "Please don't tell me your plan consists of talking the teyrn's ear off until he drops the charges."

"That is indeed the first part of the plan."

"Ah. And if that does not work, then what?"

He had hoped for a smile or a wink. Instead her face became troubled. "You will find out." And then she was walking ahead and he could only follow.

* * *

Teyrn Ramvor was a fair-haired man, his blue eyes dark-circled by grief, his clean-shaven face marred by a long battle scar across his left cheekbone. It was hard to judge his age with the weight of emotion scribed so heavily upon his features, but he looked past his thirtieth year. Even wearing black mourning his frame betrayed the muscled bulk of a warrior born, and there was an impressive double-bladed axe resting across his knees when Zevran, Asleena and Ferrix were ushered into his presence. Also on the dais, just behind the teyrn's throne, stood Xai in black robes. The assassin's twin blades were in clear evidence, but sheathed.

The hall was large, practically empty of furniture except for the throne, and there were many guards. Four stood at posts on the dais with crossbows primed, others lined the tapestried walls with swords drawn. It reminded Zevran rather uncomfortably of when he, Asleena, Alistair and Leliana had been confronted by Ser Cauthrien's guards in the Arl of Denerim's estates. Asleena had surrendered before a fight could break out. One wayward arrow, she'd explained later, and Anora might have been killed...and who would have been accused of her death?

The warriors who had escorted the small group into the hall remained close, but the Crows drifted apart and away to their own selected places.

Asleena bowed to the teyrn. "Your Grace."

"Warden," Ramvor responded with a courteous inclination of his head, but his eyes were like ice. "What do you want for him? Your missing companion?"

Zevran could have sworn there was a very slight pause preceding Asleena's reply. "If you have knowledge of Alistair, your Grace, I would expect it freely given."

"I could say something similar about the murderer of my bride."

"But the murderer stands behind you, your Grace."

"Of that, Warden, you will not convince me. Xai Merras may be a master assassin, but even he cannot be in two places at once. He was with me the night of the murder discussing the politics of wedding into the House of Irrenill."

"Doesn't he have the other Crows to do his bidding?" Asleena pointed out.

Xai spoke here. "Taelin Irrenill always had at least one attendant when she went into the city. Alejo and Seve were with her that night. Alas, dead now," he finished, looking directly at Zevran, who merely returned him stare for stare.

"I know what you're going to try and convince me of, Warden," Ramvor said impatiently. "Some story about the Crows using Taelin to set up Zevran, correct? Why would they do such a thing when the Crow delegate came to ensure my marriage to Taelin progressed smoothly?"

"The Crows have been trying to kill Zevran ever since he left their ranks," Asleena said. "It's a matter of honour for them."

"The House of Crows do indeed seek Zevran's death," Xai agreed. "He took a contract to kill the Warden who defends him now and failed."

Ramvor scoffed and rose, the heavy head of his axe swinging down to rest upon the floor. "Wonderful. This Zevran tried to kill you? Why did you spare him?"

"If his crime was against me and mine, doesn't that give me a right to choose mercy?"

"But you will refuse me the right to choose justice?"

"He is not guilty. And he has proven himself to me since then, many times. I trust him."

The doors at the rear of the hall opened and Lord Irrenill entered with a pair of his personal guards. Zevran had never laid eyes upon the man before, but he looked an old man as he was escorted past the party and up to the dais.

"Welcome, my friend," the teyrn said gravely. "Andraste's grace willing, we will see an end to this sorry matter today and Taelin's spirit will rest easy."

"I pray it will be so," Roja said. He glanced once at Xai, then down to Asleena with bleak eyes. "My sons and wife will be comforted that justice was done."

Zevran flicked a look at Asleena, wondering if she would understand what had not been vocalised. Apparently she did not.

"Lord Irrenill," she said, "haven't you told his grace what you told me?"

"That Zevran Arainai is responsible for my daughter's death?" Roja's voice was tired, disappointed. "Yes, I did, Warden."

Zevran saw it click then. Asleena looked at Xai, who indulged himself with a smile and tiny shrug. The wings of the Crows were widely spread, and to defy them was to dance on the edge of a crumbling precipice. Even the Antivan monarchy was aware of the deadly price of interference, of the risks inherent of thinking themselves and their families immune.

"There you have it," Teyrn Ramvor said. "You, Warden, are the only one who speaks on this elf's behalf."

"Taelin—" Asleena began.

"Was murdered!" he shouted. Fury contorted his face for a second, whitened the knuckles around the axe half, but he calmed himself with an effort. "I will listen to no more. I've heard it all, questioned it myself. Were you not a Grey Warden I would be tempted to have you hanged at his side for allowing this obscenity to take place within my city!" He pointed at Zevran. "That elf is a murderer and worse, Warden. I see you consider him some sort of friend, but that does not put him outside the law." He hefted his axe up to both hands. "Please do not make me take him by force."

A ripple passed through the guards, a soft noise of gloved hands tightening around weapons, armoured shoulders shifting, boots moving into readied stances. Ferrix's ears went back and his hackles lifted, but Zevran forced himself to remain unmoving. One wrong step and some twitchy guard would make a mistake.

Asleena's shoulders had tensed with the mood of the room, but her eyes did not waver from the teyrn's. "I was told that you were a reasonable man," she said. "Under the circumstances…I understand. I lost people dear to me and in those first days wanted nothing more than pain on the man responsible." Her gaze flickered momentarily to Roja Irrenill then. "When I got my chance, I didn't take it. I wanted to. I told myself I should. But I couldn't. I didn't want to become…something I despised. I didn't want to be like him."

"Are you getting to some kind of point, Warden?" Teyrn Ramvor demanded. "I have no interest in causing pain, I just want his head. Isn't that justice? And for more souls than merely Taelin's, I might add?"

Asleena set her jaw, then motioned with her left arm to indicate the shield strapped there. "It occurs to me now that the last person I allowed into the ranks of the Grey Wardens considered it a sort of justice as well—"

"_What_? No!" Ramvor exclaimed as Zevran's eyes rounded in horror.

"It is my right to recruit or conscript anyone, be it peasant or king, hero or criminal," Asleena said, her voice carrying to the entire room. "And I see fit to offer recruitment to Xai Merras."

The stunned silence that fell upon the hall was shattered by a single pair of leather-clad hands applauding. "You are 'offering', are you?" Xai remarked, an intrigued smile dancing about his lips. "A fine gambit, Warden."

"Do you object?"

"So you may conscript me instead?" The assassin chuckled and stepped down from the dais. "There is no need. I am pleased to accept! This is a fine opportunity, after all. The Grey Wardens are figures of legend, privy to secrets and powers even the Crows have no knowledge of. Why would I flinch from something like that?"

Asleena looked more dubious about her decision at that point, Zevran noticed with a wry, inward smile. He could only watch in appalled fascination at what she'd wrought, and that coupled with his relief that _he _had not been selected robbed him of speech for the moment.

Xai halted a few steps before Asleena, still smiling, and bowed. "Commander. As a Grey Warden I will be dead to the House of Crows, my oaths undone. My fealty is to you and your Order, I so swear."

"Then your first order," she said at once, as though she'd been hoping for this, "is to tell those gathered here the truth of Taelin Irrenill's death."

"Very well." Xai half-turned so he could face Teyrn Ramvor and Lord Irrenill. "Taelin was killed by Seve, a Crow now dead, at the lady's own request." The faces of both noblemen registered shock at this. "It was brought about as one part hatred of Zevran, and one part melodramatic despair at the thought of being forced into a political marriage. It was the lady's thought that death would both free her from being wedded to Teyrn Ramvor and generate enough backlash that Zevran, separated from his Warden companion, would be hunted down and slain. Naturally, the idea of killing Zevran Arainai holds appeal to the Crows, so I agreed."

"How did she even learn Zevran was in Markham?" Lord Irrenill asked in a dead-sounding voice.

"I saw to it that she was informed," Xai said smoothly. "I freely admit to some manipulation there; knowing her dislike of Zevran I encouraged it to bloom further. I had hoped she would seek him out for some sort of closure, maybe even try to kill him herself and die in the attempt, but the lady was _inspired_." He laughed a little. "Not many people are willing to set up their own deaths. A glorious thing."

"She was…being _forced _to marry me?" Ramvor said, astounded.

"As forced as any young noblewoman thinks herself in such situations, your Grace. That is something you will have to discuss with Lord Irrenill and the House of Crows."

"You would have tried to kill her anyway," Roja accused.

Xai pursed his lips. "Yes, you are correct," he said with a nod. "It would have been too good an opportunity to pass up. But that is not how it eventuated, is it? Zevran Arainai did not kill Taelin any more than I did. Not directly."

"Enough," Asleena commanded.

"Yes, enough," Ramvor agreed slowly, sinking back into his throne. He raked a hand through his hair. "You Antivans…I can barely comprehend this. I think the banns were right all along." He looked to Asleena. "I wish I could be more hospitable, Warden, but I hope you will understand when I say I want your new recruit and the other assassin out of Markham this very day. You as well, Roja, and your Crows." The teyrn shook his head, looking genuinely saddened. "I am sorry, my friend."

Roja bowed his head, fresh grief lining his face. "As am I. I will do as you ask."

"We will leave Markham when I find Alistair," Asleena said. She turned to Xai, whose expression changed from one of amiable interest at the proceedings to one of gravity. "Well?"

"Ah yes, your…_our_ brother. Follow me, Commander."


	14. Debriefing

The lyrium-infused Juggernaut armour glowed softly where it rested on a table in Xai's guest chambers. Silverite boots, gauntlets, greaves, hauberk, breastplate, it was all there. Asleena set the helmet down with the rest and tried to bite back her disappointment. She was somewhat surprised to discover she wasn't even angry…not really. She'd known there was a good chance this might happen, that Xai's bait might have been nothing more substantial than a lure, but she had not been able to resist hoping.

"Alistair sold the entire suit to an armourer in the market," Xai said. "The dwarf was charging a fortune to re-sell it, so happily it was still there when I came to take it off his hands."

"And you could afford it?" Asleena asked.

"Commander…" Xai looked pained. "I didn't have to. I had it stolen."

"You must have more information regarding Alistair than how you got your hands on his armour. If you were keeping tabs on him then you know something of where he went."

Xai inclined his head a fraction. "He bought some less conspicuous mail and took a Chanter's Board job escorting a group of elves from the alienage down to a Dalish aravel in the Wildervale little over a week ago. He did not return to Markham that I am aware of. I had the Crows search for him again when you turned up and your cause became clear, but we found nothing more of him."

"How did he seem?" Asleena asked. "Health-wise, I mean?"

"He did not appear to be injured in any way. Perhaps you could be more specific, Commander?"

"Specifically then…his emotional condition."

"Poor. Alistair spent his first week in Markham drinking quite heavily. I believe he sold this armour when he ran out of coin, and took the Chanter's Board job after that."

_Maker have mercy…_

"…I see."

"May I make a professional observation, Commander?" Xai asked when the silence stretched out. She gave him a nod and he said, "Alistair had the manner of a man who does not wish to be found and, although I hesitate to draw conclusions from drunken ramblings, I am fairly confident you know why this is."

Asleena fixed her new recruit with a level gaze, but Xai's manner towards her remained, as it had since he'd accepted a place in the Grey Wardens, perfectly deferential. "Is there a reason for this observation?"

"You asked after his emotional condition. With your…history…I would have thought you'd have a better sense of Alistair's state than I. That is all, Commander."

_Perhaps I hoped that some time away from Ferelden might have helped. I should have known better…his hate of Loghain certainly didn't fade in the months after Ostagar. How many times worse was the Landsmeet for him?_

_Oh Maker, what must he think of me?_

She took a deep breath and attempted to refocus the rising wave of guilt and pain into something more productive. Alistair might not want to be found, but so what? _She _had wanted to be left alone after the murder of her family, and if she'd gotten her way she'd be long dead. If Alistair was drowning his sorrows in ale then solitude wasn't going to do him any favours either.

"I will continue after him," she said decisively. "From what you've told me, Xai, if Alistair didn't come back to Markham then the three most likely options are that he ran into trouble, kept going with the Dalish, or struck out towards Starkhaven."

Xai nodded his agreement. "The Green Dales are roughly in the same direction as Starkhaven, Commander. The Dalish are not always fond of humans, but if Alistair was helping the city elves they may have accommodated him, if only a part of the way."

Asleena looked over at Zevran. The elf had not spoken a word for the whole time they'd been within the keep, and even now only raised a questioning brow at her glance. She abruptly wondered what he thought of how she'd handled things by recruiting Xai. Alistair certainly wouldn't have approved. Joining the Wardens, to him, was supposed to be an honour, not justice or sanctuary or punishment.

"We will try to track down the aravel," she said finally, "but we still need provisions."

"That I can organise," Xai said. "The Antivan entourage came well supplied for a return journey, and on horseback. Thanks to Zevran there are currently two serviceable horses lacking riders."

"I have never ridden before, let alone _seen _a real horse, but if it will speed our passage then I can learn," Asleena said. "Zevran, do you know how to ride?"

He smirked suddenly and broke his long silence. "I am quite proficient, yes. It would please me very much to teach you, my dear lady."

"…I meant ride a _horse_."

"Mm." Zevran's amused smile did not so much as flicker. "That could be fun also."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'. All right. This is what will happen." Asleena looked at Xai. "You will be going to Denerim and taking Alistair's armour with you. I will write a letter for you to give to Queen Anora and another for the Orlesian Wardens if any still remain in the city, so if nothing else you'll have a place to sleep and keep out of trouble. Your Joining, the ritual that will formally declare you a Grey Warden, will take place upon my return. I should be present for it."

If Xai had any objections to being sent away instead of brought along he showed no sign. "And when shall I expect your return, Commander?" he asked.

"Well, you have an idea of how far I'm travelling," she said. "It may be weeks or months. There is no rush since the Blight is over, but if you are asked by the Wardens to serve in any capacity, like clearing out roaming darkspawn, then I'll expect you to obey them." Remembering her trek in the Korcari Wilds with Daveth, Jory and Alistair, she added, "Consider it a preliminary test of how well suited you are at dealing with blighted creatures."

"Then so it shall be. I will not disappoint." Xai pulled off the black Irrenill robe he wore over his leathers and wrapped the Juggernaut armour into its voluminous folds. "This Joining, Commander…is there anything I must do to prepare myself for it?"

"All the preparations will be done by the senior Wardens. You need only be present."

He nodded and picked up the black bundle. "I will have the horses saddled and meet you in the courtyard. With your leave."

"He seems keen," Asleena murmured when Xai had left. She looked at Zevran. "I admit I didn't expect him to be so eager to join."

"Do you think he will survive it?" Zevran asked.

"I don't know."

"Do you _hope _he survives it?"

She shook her head and shrugged. "It would be easier on my conscience if he did not, I suppose. The thought of being responsible for him is about as appealing as Loghain was." She turned one of the wooden chairs around and straddled it, folding her arms across the back and resting her chin on them. Ferrix immediately went to sit at her side and planted his chin on her knee. "On the other hand, he was pretty helpful just now and if he's a master assassin then he should have no trouble against darkspawn, right?" She paused. "Aren't you going to tell me I'll regret it?"

Zevran leaned on the back of another chair but remained standing. "And what purpose would that serve, my dear? You did what you thought you had to, and it worked. You spared him, saved me and avoided conflict. That was your goal, no?"

"I don't regret what I achieved, I'm just worried about what this'll cost me further down the road." She rubbed Ferrix's ears absently. "Was I right? Would you have tried to talk me out of it if I'd told you sooner?"

He considered her question a moment, then said, "I would have cautioned you, but left the decision in your hands." There was a strangely serious edge to Zevran's words that caught her attention, like he was trying to impress something upon her.

"I appreciate that," she said finally. "Thank you. After the last Joining, well…I was worried you wouldn't approve. You don't seem particularly fond of Xai Merras."

"No one who knows anything about the master assassins is 'fond' of them, Asleena," Zevran replied with a dry chuckle. "And Xai's breed, well…even by Crow standards they are ruthless, utterly without remorse…they regret nothing and revel in everything." His smile became self-mocking. "What all assassins should aspire to be…a perfect balance between a cold heart and passion for the kill." When her look became concerned, he abruptly changed the subject. "Are you certain, my dear, that you still wish to pursue Alistair? It is starting to sound rather like you will not like what you find."

"I'm sure," she said, nodding. She smiled then, a little sadly. "If I don't, I'll always wonder…and always regret. I have to try. I owe him and myself that much."

Zevran regarded her for a silent moment before replying. "Then we will find him. Have no fear."


	15. Twisting Truths

"Checking up on me, Zevran Arainai?"

"I have questions of my own, Xai Merras."

"I expected you would." Xai chuckled, picked up a bridle and fitted it over the head of a dark brown gelding. The animal stood patiently as straps and buckles were fastened. "You were conspicuously silent upstairs…not at all the cocky assassin I remember from Antiva City."

Markham Keep's stables were sizable. There were ten wooden stalls, all occupied, and Xai stood in one right near the back. Zevran stepped over the threshold, inhaling the scent of horse, leather and fresh hay. It was a marked improvement on Ferelden's pervading odour of dog and darkspawn, and made him look forward to next stage of the journey with Asleena. Innuendo aside, he _was _a fine rider and it had been some time since he'd enjoyed the feel of a good saddle and a running horse beneath him.

"Where is the groom?" Zevran asked suddenly, glancing about.

"I sent him away. I prefer to do things like this myself." Xai flashed one of those confident, amused, _irritating_ smiles of his. "A partially cut strap in the right place and a nasty tumble is a fate I don't want any of us to suffer."

"That warms my heart." Zevran walked down the straw-strewn passage that ran between the stalls, listening to the soft crinkle and crunch beneath his boots. Out of trained habit he glanced into each enclosure as he passed, noting the heaped saddlebags and blankets in many of them. "Where are the Crows?"

"Still plotting your demise, I'm sure, but not as far as riding tack is concerned." The Warden recruit smirked briefly. "Come, Zevran, we are on the same side now! Do you think I'm still out to get you? You should know as well as any assassin that killing a mark is nothing personal."

"You are on Asleena's side, not mine," Zevran corrected. "A fine distinction, but an important one, don't you think?"

"Quite so. And an intriguing woman the Commander is." Xai laughed suddenly. "Recruiting me? Incredible. I never considered the possibility, save that she might use it on _you_ as a last resort. You should have seen the look on your face when she began her announcement."

That observation rankled. Zevran knew Asleena couldn't have seen since she hadn't been looking in the right direction, but that Xai had noticed nettled him. He didn't like it when people saw beneath his mask, especially when the people in question had a penchant for manipulating such knowledge to their advantage. It was none of Xai's concern that Zevran had no desire to be a Grey Warden.

There was a knowing look in the former master's eyes, however. "I have to wonder," he mused, "if she would have recruited you as well had I not cooperated. Lucky for you I was interested in being a Warden, hm?"

"And wanting to be a Warden is the source of your astonishing turn of aid and honesty? If indeed you spoke the whole truth at any point back there."

"Why should I have not spoken truly?" Xai picked up a grey blanket that was slung over the railing and settled it across the horse's back. "Like all the master assassins, my loyalties are simple and uncluttered, Zevran. The man or woman who is my superior is the one I will show complete respect and obedience to. That's how I was trained, forged and _twisted_." He chuckled. "You know a little of how it is. But I have also come to appreciate that there are many advantages to being relied upon and confided in by those in positions of power, and for someone like me who makes the most of deceit and manipulation to achieve his goals I must be scrupulously honest _indeed_ to earn and maintain the trust of those above me. Otherwise I end up dead." Xai's smile widened fractionally. "But _you_ are not my superior, Zevran, so how can you know I'm being honest right now?"

"Perhaps it's to your advantage to earn _my _trust as well, considering my success at winning hers."

"Yes, she said as much in the Great Hall, didn't she? That she trusted you?" Xai hoisted a saddle atop the blanket and dipped out of view to attend the girth strap. His voice drifted from within the stall. "First impressions can make it…hard to earn faith. You only attacked her; I tried to throw her off guard and manipulate her. Breaking into her bathroom at The Silver Veil wouldn't have helped matters between us, I suspect."

"She seems to trust you enough to send you to Denerim alone, no?"

"You think so, do you?" Xai sounded entertained by the idea. His head popped up from the other side of the horse again, and he regarded Zevran with sly amusement. "Or are you just saying that to make me think I'm already getting somewhere?"

Zevran didn't reply and maintained his confident air. Privately he suspected Asleena _didn't _trust Xai on his own, but liked the concept of travelling with the man even less. Furthermore, when they caught up with Alistair it would be hard enough for her to explain Zevran's oh-so-innocent presence without adding a master assassin Grey Warden recruit to the mix.

"Whatever the Commander's reasons," Xai went on, "I never made a habit of questioning orders in the past and don't intend to start now."

Zevran shrugged. It was hard to know what to truly believe, but master assassin loyalty (along with some of their other traits) was renowned amongst the Crows. He'd said as much to Asleena at the Veil, which was probably where she'd gotten the idea of recruiting him now that he thought about it. If Xai saw her as his superior then he would obey her to the hilt, and Xai's open declaration of breaking his vows and joining the Grey Wardens, in front of other Crows and an Antivan noble no less, was evidence in itself.

Considering all that had happened to him in Markham City, Zevran didn't _want _to trust Xai, but that didn't mean the man couldn't be useful.

"Speaking of Asleena," Zevran said, "there was a Crow attempt on her life in Denerim the day we sailed from Ferelden, roughly two weeks ago. Has someone else taken up that Grey Warden contract?"

Xai's manner became instantly professional, like a merchant who'd turned from casual conversation to serve a customer. "Not to my recollection," he said thoughtfully. "Not when I left Antiva, that I know, but it has been over a month and a half since I departed with the Irrenill entourage. Maybe it was one of Taliesen's group. He followed you to Ferelden some months back."

"And he found us. We may have missed one of his team in the clean-up, there were quite a number of them," Zevran conceded, "but that was before the darkspawn overran Denerim, and a lone survivor turning up just to take a desperate shot feels unlikely."

"Hm. What happened to this mysterious Crow?"

"He's either entertaining Queen Anora's dungeon or dancing on the end of a rope by now. If he is still alive, however, you could get answers—see if someone else took the contract. He has no way of knowing you've been recruited."

"There is that. I will speak to the Commander about it before we part and get her decision on the matter." Xai opened the wooden gate to exit the stall, then turned and studied him. "You killed Taliesen, then?"

"He left me no choice."

"The corpse of another friend in the closet, hrm?" Xai's smile returned, as did Zevran's irritation. "I hear he was quite put out you didn't take him along on your suicide mission. _Noble _of you, leaving him behind when you set sail with the intention of dying at the Wardens' hands."

"How did—?" Zevran stopped, too late.

"Four swords, Zevran," the other man swore mildly. "There was not a master who _didn't _know you were going willingly to your own grave. There was at least one of us who despised your towering arrogance enough to actively _want_ you dead, and my former brethren are hardly above engineering the fall of lesser assassins who become bothersome. You were intended to get yourself killed. For glory."

"Engineered…how?" he asked, incredulous.

"Through that last mission of yours. Through Rinna. Your affection for the girl made her the obvious mark. The false information that led to you and Taliesen slaughtering her was ultimately supplied by a Crow craftmaster, like myself. I think you can guess for yourself which one."

Zevran nodded mutely, a savage roaring building in his ears. He had never bothered to find out the source of that misinformation—at the time he hadn't cared, and after realising the mistake he'd been too guilt-ridden to blame anyone but himself.

"Whether the remorse of discovering your error led you to throwing yourself on another's blade or your own, he didn't care," Xai was saying in the same blithely conversational voice. "No one doubted you would kill her…you were cold enough, I suppose, but not quite _there._ A few of us thought the situation would only serve to harden your character by showing you how foolish personal attachments are." He chuckled. "I guess we were wrong on that score."

"Why…are you telling me this?"

"You asked, so why not?" Xai entered another stall, occupied by a roan gelding. He sighed suddenly. "You know, I wish I could give the Commander Taelin's horse. It's that silver Orlesian mare down near the front. Much more becoming of a woman of her bearing, but I suppose Roja would notice if his daughter's prize went missing. Ah, the poor souls who die in the crossfire of craft."

Zevran concentrated on getting his emotions under control. It should not have been this hard. No matter his other vices, vengeance was not in his nature; few things were so precious to him that he'd seek satisfaction for their loss. But for Rinna…he wanted this kill. The thought that there was someone to pin the blame on out there _besides him _was intoxicating. It would not be redemption, but it would feel _right_.

_Asleena helped Leliana hunt down Marjolaine…_

Yes, but she had also encouraged Leliana to let Marjolaine go. Besides, this would not be some side trip into a nearby city. Antiva was a massive deviation to their current course. She'd never agree to it.

_She killed Flemeth for Morrigan. Or she told Morrigan she did._

Strange, that, he reflected suddenly. All the way back into the Korcari Wilds with the darkspawn presence boiling around Ostagar, and not only did she _not_ take the resident assassin with her, preferring instead the company of Alistair, Wynne and Leliana (the three _least _likely candidates for murder in his mind), but she claimed to have killed the old witch who'd saved both her life and Alistair's from the Tower of Ishal.

_Hm. Morrigan took her for her word. Asleena may have gone through with it, acting on the belief that Flemeth was a danger to Morrigan, but still…I wonder._

"No more questions, Zevran?"

"No," he said thoughtfully, calm once more. "Not for you, anyway."

And he walked out.


	16. Leaving Markham

Asleena folded her two missives, wishing she had a signet and wax to seal them properly. Unfortunately her departure from Highever had been a bit hurried for her to think of grabbing her family insignia ring, and she'd never gotten a Grey Warden one—if they even used such mundane means to protect their mail. At least she hadn't written anything she cared about Xai reading. The messages were simple, stating she'd reached Markham City in the Free Marches, recruited Crow master assassin Xai Merras into the Order and wanted him kept out of trouble as much as possible until she returned for his Joining. If he failed to turn up in Denerim by the time she got back…well, either she wouldn't have to worry about him anymore, or she'd deal with him as the future demanded. It was as simple as that.

After writing them she'd wanted to pen a third letter to Fergus, but reluctantly decided against it. The things she wanted to confide to her brother were too intimate to risk in Xai's hands, and Fergus deserved a personal explanation anyway. She wondered how he was doing in Highever, restoring their home by himself with all those memories haunting the battle-scarred halls. She would go help him when this was over, but sorely regretted abandoning him to that task while she went chasing after a man she hadn't even known for a whole year.

At least they were gaining on him, though. When she, Zevran and Ferrix had departed Denerim Alistair had been at least two weeks ahead of them. Now they knew he was little over one week in front, and with horses that gap could be reduced even further. She had no idea how fast the Dalish aravel travelled, but if they were pulled by halla then surely they couldn't be much quicker than a wagon. She was hoping he'd gone with the elves. Maybe some time in their company would…sober him up.

A knock at the door distracted her. "Are you decent?" Zevran's voice asked through the wood.

"Do I have to dignify that with an answer?" she rejoined, glad of a chance to smile.

"I have heard stories of what women get up to behind closed doors when they have no company and get bored. Very _interesting _stories."

"Not this woman, Zev."

"Alas, another dream crushed beneath the cold, booted heel of reality." He opened the door and came in, a large bundle in his arms. "I apologise for taking so long, but I wanted to find something…just right." He grinned, setting his burden down on the table before her.

She looked at him suspiciously. "You're positive I can't just wear my armour while riding? The Orlesian Chevaliers do."

"True, but they are accustomed to the task. You, I think, should wear something a little more comfortable…just until you are confident in the saddle."

Asleena unwrapped the bundle. "Leather?"

"Mmhm." The assassin's smirk broadened. "I do hope it fits. I had to do a bit of guesswork in places."

"I'm sure you did," she muttered, picking up the riding gear and carrying it into an adjoining room to escape his appraising golden-eyed gaze. "Give me a moment then." After a few minutes she re-emerged, feeling not a little self-conscious. The soft doeskin trousers and vest fit—exceptionally well. The problem with wearing something that felt like a second skin, though, meant having the alarming sensation of walking around stark naked. Zevran's slow up-down glance certainly seemed to verify this, except that Zevran tended to look at _all_ women like he was imagining them without clothing so she wasn't quite sure whether or not she should be affronted by his frank perusal.

"Very fetching," he said with satisfaction. "I knew it would be so. You hide your figure behind too much steel, my dear. A body such as yours deserves to be seen and admired."

"Really? Will the horse care what I look like?"

He laughed. "Probably not! At any rate, we should be off. I am not so keen to linger in Markham City any longer than needed."

"I won't argue with you there. I can't wait to get out of this place." Asleena picked up her scabbard and strapped it over her shoulder, wrapped up her dragonscale armour then followed Zevran out into the hallway, clicking her tongue for Ferrix to heel.

The assassin was unusually quiet on the way down to the courtyard. At first Asleena thought he was just being careful and watching out for the three Crows still in residence, but he was not looking about any more than usual.

"Is something on your mind?" she asked finally.

"A number of things, yes. It is…not the right time or place to discuss them, however. Perhaps on the road."

She nodded and they continued into the courtyard, ignoring the scrutiny of the guards on the way, where Xai was awaiting them with three horses: two brown, and one roan. Asleena regarded the animals cautiously as she approached. They were quite a bit bigger than she'd imagined. Ferrix's ears were perked with interest but he showed no sign of being intimidated.

"You've never even seen a live horse before?" Zevran murmured as they got nearer, and she shook her head, not taking her eyes off the beasts.

"Ferelden never took to horses. I think it had something to do with the Orlesian invasion...the chevaliers had their warhorses and we had our mabari." She shrugged. "That's my theory, at least."

"Commander," Xai greeted Asleena when they reached him.

"Xai. Here are those letters I spoke of." She handed them over and he tucked them away inside his leather armour. "Do you know how to get to Denerim from here?"

"A pass through the Vimmark Mountains will get me to Ostwick, and from there I can hire passage across the Waking Sea," he replied. "There is supposed to be some kind of hostile activity near Ostwick, but I shall try to avoid it."

"You should encounter no trouble. Zevran and I handled that problem on the way here."

"Then I shall look forward to a smooth ride, Commander."

"I want no deviations," she told him bluntly. "And especially no random killing sprees."

"I understand. And may I share something with you, Commander?" He waited for her nod before continuing. "No matter what Zevran has told you about me, I do not just go around randomly killing people. Not without orders."

Zevran snorted. "No, you would simply get someone else to do your killing for you. Or manipulate them into getting themselves killed."

"Why so moralistic about the means of death, Zevran?" Xai asked mildly, turning his eyes upon the elf. "Am I the more reprehensible man because I _don't _make a habit of having sex with my marks right before cutting their throats?"

Zevran glared at him, drew breath as though to reply but then said nothing.

"I always thought it the height of cruelty letting a target beg for their life like that," Xai went on, warming to his subject. "Make them think they might have a chance of survival by utterly debasing themselves with their imminent killer…how terrified they must be in those final moments." He shrugged. "But we all have our preferred methods of pleasure, don't we?"

"That's enough sharing, I think," Asleena interrupted, noticing the angry light flickering in Zevran's eyes and feeling disturbed. She wished she'd spoken up sooner now, but there was a strangely compelling quality in Xai's voice that had made her want to hear more. Zevran had told her stories about some of his assassinations in the past…she'd almost forgotten about the finer details. "Which horse is mine?" she asked, trying to ignore the images of pleading women and indulgently-smiling Zevrans parading through her mind. _That is all in the past_, she told herself firmly.

"I suggest this one, Commander," Xai said, indicating the roan. He passed her the reins then drew back with one of the other mounts, leaving the third standing for Zevran.

"Zev," she whispered, and his attention snapped to her. "Are you all right?"

"Are you sure we can't torture him? Just a bit?"

She grinned hopefully. "Come on, you're teaching me how to ride, remember? How do I get up on this thing?"

"Hm." He went to claim the reins of his own horse, and when he looked at her again she was relieved to see the fury gone from his eyes. "Watch me. Your hands on the saddle like so, your foot in the stirrup, and then—" with a push and a swing of his leg over the horse's back, he was easily seated with reins in hand.

"Right," Asleena said dubiously. "Time to make a complete fool of myself."

After an initial clumsy attempt, she was sitting in the saddle on her second try. "Wow," she managed, taking in the new perspective. "This is…high."

Zevran's horse came up beside hers. "Hold your reins like this," the assassin said, showing her. He gave her a few other simple instructions, dismounted to adjust the length of her stirrups, then got back into his saddle. Xai also mounted and the three of them, with Ferrix trotting alongside, left Markham at a sedate walking pace. Citizens and guards alike melted out of their path along the way, until at last they were riding through the gatehouse then standing on the road outside the city.

"Commander," Xai said once they were beyond the walls. He pointed north towards the farmlands. "Do you see that large tree past the furthest paddock? That is where the Dalish camped last week. The landships leave distinctive tracks, so picking up the trail through the Wildervale should not be an issue.

"Zevran also mentioned a Crow attacked you in Denerim on the day of your departure from Ferelden. If Queen Anora has not had him executed, would you like me to question him?"

"What do you think you might learn?" she asked.

"If another has taken the Grey Warden contract," he replied. "And if not, why he so foolishly took a shot at the Hero of Ferelden."

"Sounds fine to me, so long as you don't torture him."

Xai chuckled. "With any luck, simply seeing that a master assassin has crept into his cell may startle the truth straight from his lips. I shall mention it to the Queen and the Orlesian Wardens when I reach Denerim."

"And I will see you when we get back, then handle your Joining." Asleena nodded to him. "Travel safely."

He inclined his head in return. "I'll be seeing you around, Commander." He turned his horse's head for the west, touched his heels to its flanks and it set off into a rolling canter towards the forested mountains.

"I suppose it's too late to wish he'd get eaten by cannibals on the way," Zevran remarked. "Maybe the pirates will sink his ship? Perhaps I could help them?"

"And maybe he'll just be useful some time in the future," Asleena said. "Can we not talk about Xai any more? He's gone for now, and I want to get as far away from this place as possible." She smiled wryly. "Teach me how to ride, Zev. I want to learn how to go fast."

A grin of anticipation suddenly broke across Zevran's face, and turned his horse with a slight movement. "You will enjoy this," he promised.

* * *

A warm wind blew.

The Wildervale was a wide valley that stretched across the middle of the Free Marches, bounded by the lush Vimmark Mountains in the south and the Minanter River in the north. Trees were sparse, and there was something incredibly _free _about seeing that broad expanse of gold and pale green grass stretching out ahead, seemingly forever until it hit the cloud-streaked sky.

It reminded Asleena little of home, looking out from Highever across the Bannorn.

Except back home, she'd not had a horse.

Zevran tore ahead, laughing like a madman, and Asleena charged after him with the thunder of hooves filling her ears and the wind whipping her hair and her horse's mane back behind her, a surely manic smile upon her face. The long grass blurred past them, and occasionally one of the two of them would plunge through an unsuspecting flock of seed parrots, sending them skywards with startled cries and a flurry of rainbow-hued wings. The speed of their passing was incredible, like nothing she'd ever experienced or expected. Once she'd gotten over her fear of being thrown from the saddle like a sack of potatoes, she realised she was laughing breathlessly, ecstatic.

She couldn't _remember _the last time she'd just enjoyed herself like this. She didn't want to stop.

_What would it have been like to ride a griffon, I wonder? To fly through the air, swooping down on darkspawn from above?_

Watching Zevran guide his horse over a hillock, seeing the muscles ripple beneath its chestnut coat as it leaped, the assassin astride its back whooping gleefully, she grinned to herself.

_Perhaps horses can fly just fine without wings._

Ferrix was keeping up nearby, a dark streak through undergrowth that rose above the mabari's head in some places. He was probably enjoying himself too, Asleena thought. He didn't get much of a chance to simply run anymore, restricted to the pace of his two-legged companions most of the time.

"Enough!" Zevran cried eventually, slowing his horse to a halt. He was still grinning when Asleena reined in, and his usually immaculate blond hair was wind-blown and tangled. "Well?" he asked her, raising a brow.

Asleena laughed, still catching her breath, and rubbed the arched neck of her roan. "I could do that forever, I think."

"We seem to have discovered a natural talent, my dear. Perhaps when you take over the arling of Amaranthine you should have a stable built and buy some horses. The Grey Wardens don't have griffons anymore, after all."

"I was just thinking that! About the griffons, anyway." She grinned then shook her head. "As much as I like the idea of Wardens charging into battle on horseback, though, I don't know how badly they'd be affected by blight."

He cocked his head curiously. "How did the griffons die out?"

"I don't know. All the stories I read just said their numbers dwindled, and I never thought to ask Duncan or Riordan. Maybe they were as susceptible as other animals in the end." She looked to where Ferrix stood a little ahead of them, tongue lolling out as he panted but clearly eager to press onwards. "I consider myself lucky that Ferrix didn't get sick with all we went through. A mouthful of tainted blood is all it takes, apparently."

They nudged their horses into a walk, following the furrows in the ground left by the Dalish aravel. Markham was far behind them now, visible as a white dot high up against the Vimmark.

"We've come a long way in just a few hours," she observed. "How did we ever get anywhere on foot?"

"I know!" he laughed, then fell silent and glanced at Asleena when Ferrix started barking from up ahead. "Has he found something?"

They followed the mabari's calls into the long grass, slightly off the aravel trail, to where a gleaming white shape was thrashing feebly amidst the golden stalks, a broken-off arrow shaft sticking out of its side.

It was a halla.


	17. The Wildervale

"And people say _I _have a death wish," Zevran murmured, turning in his saddle to scan the surrounds even as he unshouldered his bow.

"Ferrix!" Asleena ordered. "Quiet! Good boy. Now back up…back up…"

The mabari slunk back a few paces, watching the stricken halla with perked ears. He lay down on his belly in the grass, lowering his head to the ground to make himself look less of a threat.

"Good boy…" Asleena dismounted awkwardly, grabbing at the saddle to keep from falling backwards. "Halla are forest animals, aren't they?" she asked Zevran, creeping towards the wounded animal. It had stopped panicking once Ferrix left it alone, but its eyes were still rolling with distress.

"Yes indeed," Zevran said. "This one must have been with the aravel."

"Shh…" Asleena whispered as the halla shied. She didn't have much experience with the animals, having only seen them in the Brecilian Forest back in Ferelden, but she'd helped an elf named Elora calm one down once. Murmuring softly to it, she examined it quickly without getting too close. It was a buck, fully mature, its coat glistening white, its horns longer than its legs and elaborately carved in the way of the Dalish. She focussed on the broken arrow in its side. "It's not fresh," she said over her shoulder to Zevran. "At least three days old. He must have fled and gotten confused." She crawled backwards, got up and fetched a waterskin from her saddlebags. "Who would attack an aravel?"

Zevran chuckled humourlessly as she circled the animal to approach his head. "People who hate the Dalish? People who want to make some quick gold? Both?"

"Quick gold?" Asleena asked, pulling the stopper from the skin.

"As a revered animal of the Dalish, one they take exception to people killing, naturally there are rich individuals out there who would pay a great deal to own, as it were, a piece. The horns of a halla alone are worth a fortune, at least in Antiva, their hides can be turned to leather, and of course there is always someone who wants an exotic head mounted upon their wall."

Asleena didn't reply at once, intent on tempting the halla with a thin stream of water. As she'd suspected the creature was dehydrated, and he stretched his nose out towards the flow, flicking out a pink tongue to lap it up. Alistair was with the aravel, or so she still hoped. He would have tried to protect the elves from attackers. They'd be all right. "I don't think the arrow pierced anything vital…I'm going on mabari anatomy here, though." She reached out carefully, ready to jump back if the halla struck out with a hoof, but it didn't. Shooing flies away, she touched the hide near the arrow wound as gently as she could.

"If we can get it on its feet again," Zevran observed, "and bring it along of course, the Dalish would be very happy to see us."

"Well, he doesn't look injured enough that I'd want to put him down," Asleena said. "Getting that arrow out will be a problem...I don't know if I can do it without being gored, and I might end up doing more harm than good."

"Leave it in then. Less risk for you and him, and the elves will know best what to do."

"Then we just have to get him up. Maybe now that he's had a drink—" Asleena looked to her side as something brushed her elbow, and saw Ferrix worming his way under her arm. Still flat on the ground, the warhound wriggled closer to the halla until they were almost nose to nose, his tail wagging in a canine invitation to play.

Then his head came up sharply, turned west, and a growl sounded in the back of his throat.

Zevran looked, then cursed and grabbed the reins of Asleena's horse as it tossed its head nervously. "Something is out there. An animal, I think." He shouldered his bow one-handed, trying to control his own skittish mount with his legs, and drew his sword. "If I get down and let the horses go, they will bolt and we'll be walking again."

"We can't have that, can we?" Asleena said with a tight grin. Edging away from the halla, which was showing signs of distress again, she drew Starfang and signalled for Ferrix to show her the way. "If I'm not back soon," she added to Zevran, "it's your turn to save _my_ life."

"Are we keeping score now, my dear?" he asked, smirking. "Very well then! I shall listen most intently for your desperate cries of my name." He paused. "And now I don't know whether or not to wish you well."

"Rogue."

Ferrix padded through the long grass, his ears swivelling this way and that. Asleena followed as quietly as she could manage but she was no student of stealth, and trying to walk without noise in this environment was beyond her. She glanced back once, seeing Zevran watching her from his vantage point in the saddle with a look of concern, then the grass hid him from view.

She tightened her grip on the hilt, hoping she wouldn't end up needing her armour. Why was she always without it when she needed it these days? Maybe she should have taken Duncan's shield along…she'd left it strapped to her horse. Too late now.

_What do we have, Ferrix? Wolf? Bear? Boar? What lives out here?_

The sun beat down. She tried to listen and get a feel for the wind, reaching back to her hunting lessons on the Bannorn. The grass there had been nowhere near as long as this…

Ferrix growled again and halted. Asleena stopped too, turning a slow circle. There was no noise but the rustling grass…nothing to see but the swaying gold and green fronds…

…and then a deep, reverberating growl sounded from behind her. She spun, Starfang sweeping around to cleave a great swath of grass, but the animal was upon her and its weight bore her to the ground as curved jaws in a tawny-furred head snapped towards her face and claws pierced her shoulders. Asleena dropped her too-large blade with a shout, half surprise half pain, and tried to beat at the creature's face with her fists. Then Ferrix was there. The mabari simply _charged_, launching himself at the other animal and bowling it clear off his mistress. Dog and wilds-beast tumbled over into the grass, a mass of teeth, claws and vicious snarls as they fought.

Asleena rolled to her feet, grabbed Starfang in blood-slippery hands and whirled with the two-handed sword held low as the grass parted to admit another of the animals. It looked like a huge golden-furred cat with tufted ears and tail. Amber eyes stared unblinkingly at her from above bared teeth as it gauged its intended prey.

Not giving it a chance to launch an attack, Asleena bellowed a war cry that made the animal flinch back, startled, then she lunged forwards and drove her sword straight into its chest. It screeched, thrashed hard enough to wrench itself free, then collapsed dead.

Ferrix yelped in pain behind her and she turned back quickly.

"Get out of there!" she wanted to yell, but upon seeing the fight knew it was no good. The two animals were locked together, and while Ferrix was a powerful war-trained beast, the cat was bigger than him, heavier, and its claws were doing a lot of damage. The mabari's studded collar was preventing the cat from getting a death-grip around Ferrix's throat, but his belly was a mass of blood where hind-claws had scored him over and again, seeking disembowelment. If he tried to flee now, he might be killed.

"Here!" she roared, taking a provoking strike at the cat's flank that she knew would miss, but hoped would get its attention. It worked; the animal disengaged from Ferrix and turned to face the greater threat. Asleena circled, blood pounding in her ears and trickling down her arms as she tried to put herself between her injured dog and the wilds-beast. She heard Ferrix stagger out of the way, still gamely on his paws, and prayed to the Maker that he was not too seriously injured. He'd had brushes with death before, and Asleena had been worried sick each time. He was as much family to her as Fergus, and to lose him would be like losing her home all over again.

"I love you, you big sodding mutt," she whispered, keeping Starfang held low like a spear, its point trained on the pacing cat. "Don't die on me now."

Although it had managed to best Ferrix, the cat was far from steady on its feet. Blood matted the golden fur around its neck and there were fleshy furrows across its belly and sides. Asleena swept Starfang in its direction and it crouched, tail lashing angrily and a yowling snarl filling the air. She lunged and it jumped back, fangs bared, then it backed further away into the grass and disappeared.

She hoped it had fled.

Ferrix whimpered piteously when she ran to his side to check him over, but licked her face from chin to brow when she crouched down.

"Good boy. You'll be all right," she whispered, fishing a piece of mabari crunch from her belt pouch and feeding it to him. "Let's get you out of here."

She kept her sword out on the way back, walking slowly to accommodate Ferrix's injured pace, but then she heard the high-pitched squeals of horses and Zevran's voice shouting a challenge. She moved faster, Ferrix limping to keep up, and she could see the assassin before she reached him. The reins of one horse were gripped in his left hand as it bucked, pulling him off balance when he trust his sword downwards. Then she saw the head of the wounded halla rise above the grass, its horns gleaming as it lashed at something unseen with its front hooves.

"Little help here!" Zevran yelled upon spying Asleena, and she broke into a run.

There were two more cats. The first, caught between Zevran and the suddenly hostile halla, did not get out of the way in time when Asleena plunged out of the grass and brought Starfang down in a massive overhand chop. The second was avoiding the flying hooves of the horse it had approached from behind. It jumped to one side then pounced at Zevran, huge paws extended to drag him from the saddle, but the assassin whipped his slender blade across its face before the claws reached him and it fell short, staggered, then just stood there blinking and wobbling. One of the horses promptly kicked its skull in.

"Take the reins of this enthusiast before it twists my arm off," Zevran gasped, still struggling to control both horses, and Asleena went over to take control of her mount, though cautiously. She hadn't thought to gauge the strength of a horse's kick until now.

"Let's get back to the aravel trail where the grass isn't so long," she said, and they did. The halla came with them without urging, but its legs trembled.

"I think we're going no further today," Zevran said when they were clear. He leaned down to examine his left leg, which was bleeding through his leather armour. "There are still hours of daylight remaining, but we're not in good shape. There may be trouble at the aravel if it was attacked."

Asleena agreed, but reluctantly. "We still came further than if we'd walked all day," she said, trying to find the bright side.

* * *

They hobbled and watered the horses, set up camp, tended their wounds and ate. The halla allowed its injury to be seen to; although the arrow was left in its flesh, a poultice-soaked bandage was wrapped around the shaft to fend off infection and prevent the injury from becoming flyblown. Sleep was taken in shifts.

Asleena woke from hers with her heart pounding and sweat on her brow.

"That's the first time I've had a nightmare about darkspawn since the Blight ended," she told Zevran in the morning.

"What did you see?"

She shook her head, squinting at the sky. "Some place dark. There were a lot of them, all around, and I could hear that noise…the one that Shrieks make, you know?"

"I try not to remember. Those are the ones that come from elves, yes?"

Asleena nodded, went to the saddlebags and pulled out a hairbrush. "Maybe getting jumped by those cats spooked me," she said, trying to shrug it off. "Or maybe I'm just remembering that ambush on the bridge in the Deep Roads."

"I missed that one. You left me behind with Sten, Morrigan and Wynne for entertainment. I haven't thanked you for that yet, I believe."

"You can thank me now, then. That was one of the most terrifying fights I can remember." She sat down near the small cook-fire where porridge was bubbling in a pot. "Alistair, Oghren, Leliana and I were going across a stone bridge, a big one, looked clear all the way to the other side. Alistair and I could sense darkspawn of course, but there's so much activity down there…" She shrugged. "Anyway, we got to somewhere in the middle of the bridge and then we heard them, their cries. They were in front of us, they were _behind _us, and we were suddenly fighting for our lives. Leliana went down, then Oghren. Alistair and I were back to back and outnumbered, both of us badly wounded. That's one of the few times in my life where I really thought 'I am going to die.'"

The assassin grinned. "Challenging, then? Sounds like fun, if you ask me."

She looked at him sourly. "As much as I miss killing darkspawn, that situation was far from fun. Sodding Shrieks. Urgh…" She gestured with the brush. "What about you? Even been in a situation where you thought you were done for?"

"The time I ambushed you sticks out the most."

"I don't remember you looking particularly scared in that encounter…"

"Because I was not." Zevran quirked a brow. "But perhaps you meant to ask if I have ever been in a situation where I feared for my life. Antivans do not scare easily, Crows less so. Death is commonplace so we do not tend to waste time worrying about it—especially those of us in the business of dishing it out."

"Well, I wish I had your confidence." She stretched her legs out and groaned. "Maker's breath…why didn't you warn me riding would be so painful?"

"Oho, I forgot to warn you about that, did I? So sorry."

"_You _don't seem to be in agony."

"I have certain exercises and techniques for preparing the muscles and relaxing them afterwards. I _could_ teach you." He grinned at her. "I did not think you would be interested, truth be told."

"Let me guess…some of these lessons involve massaging my thighs," she said in amusement-tinged disgust.

"If you change your mind…"

She snorted, set down the brush in favour of a bowl of porridge, then found herself glancing off down the aravel trail where it cut northwest through the grass. The nightmare niggled at her mind. "I don't know why," she said quietly, "but I have a bad feeling."

* * *

For the second and third day, along with half of the fourth, they rode without interruption, going at a pace both the halla and Ferrix could maintain. The mabari healed quickly with treatment, but the halla's state began to deteriorate despite Asleena's efforts to keep the wound clean. She had made the silent decision to try pulling the arrowhead out at the end of that day, but in the early hours of the afternoon they finally saw the dark smudge of the aravel on a distant hill.

Five Dalish scouts intercepted them some distance from the landship an hour later, bows and blades drawn but lowered. All of them had noticed the halla and they were speaking to each other in rapid elvish, clearly unsure what to make of this situation.

"We found him half a day's ride out of Markham city," Asleena said, finally deciding to interrupt their dialogue. They shut up at once. "He was wounded and still is. I hope, with your aid, he will be all right."

A blonde elf stepped forwards, beckoning to the halla with an outstretched hand. The animal walked over to her, horned head bowed, and the elf smiled. Tears were in her eyes when she looked up. "You have our thanks, strangers. We searched and had almost given him up for dead. Please be at ease. I am Selandel."

"I'm Asleena and this is Zevran." On the verge of asking about Alistair, she stopped when she noticed several elves straighten and glance between themselves. Selandel's smile had faded into a thoughtful expression.

"Are we no longer welcome?" Zevran asked dryly.

"You were companions to a human named Alistair," Selandel said.

"Is he here?" Asleena demanded.

"No."

"No?"

"I am not playing you false," the elven woman said, hearing the note of challenge in the Grey Warden's voice. "He left four days past, bound for the Green Dales with a number of our warriors. Alistair impressed many of us here when he helped fight off a group of poachers who attacked our aravel, and he was asked to aid the Dalish in the struggle within our forest. He agreed to go."

"What kind of struggle?" Asleena asked, but she already had a sinking feeling she would know the answer.

"A nest of darkspawn, shemlen. Sharlocks."

_Shrieks._


	18. Healing Wounds

_Author's note: This chapter contains actual game dialogue from Dragon Age: Origins, and dialogue that has been paraphrased to fit this story. As always, thanks for reading. I hope you're enjoying the journey. :)  
_

* * *

They did not linger with the Dalish. After some specific questions, like the location of the sharlock nest and when it had erupted into the Green Dales, Asleena, Zevran and Ferrix pushed on. They moved faster without the halla, but when night fell they had not yet reached the forest or the Minanter River. Zevran had convinced her not to keep riding through the night, so now Asleena paced restlessly some distance from the camp, her mind in turmoil and far from the impending bloodshed.

She had not asked Selandel or any of the other elves about Alistair, his emotional state or the things he had said about his past friends, and cursed herself as a coward because of it. Would it be easier to simply run into him in the forest, meet him in the thick of battle, fight at his side with the song of blades expressing everything she still didn't have words to say? A fool's dream, that forgiveness would come so easily and without even a raised voice, without anger, without _hurt_. She could count the number of times he'd yelled at her on the fingers of one hand, but it was their parting that always echoed most loudly in her ears and made her spirit cringe.

"_You're going to let him live? After everything he's done?! KILL HIM, ALREADY!"_

Loghain, a man who abandoned hundreds of men and women to the darkspawn, tried to have Alistair and her assassinated, poisoned Arl Eamon, had Riordan and many others tortured, the city elves sold off like cattle to bolster the treasury, brought Ferelden to the brink of civil war and probably sanctioned Rendon Howe's attack on the Cousland family because their noble blood, like Eamon Guerrin's, would be a threat to his authority.

"_I will _not_ stand next to him as a brother. I WON'T!"_

Loghain's betrayal had resulted in Duncan's death, the deaths of all the other Grey Wardens in Ferelden, almost everyone Alistair had considered family, his true family. How differently would the Blight have gone had the general attacked at Ostagar, or at least not blamed the Grey Wardens for the slaughter when he withdrew? Loghain had claimed that by the time the beacon had been lit in the Tower of Ishal it was too late…charging would have only meant more loss of life and would not have saved King Cailan…but true or not, it did not justify his other atrocities.

"_You're siding with _her?_ How could you do this to me? You of all people?"_

"I couldn't let you do it," she whispered, staring up at the stars. "I couldn't let you take the crown just to have your revenge. _I'm sorry._"

"_I don't want anything more to do with this p__lace or any of you people. Ever! I swear it."_

The re-established Queen, the Ferelden nobility, the Grey Wardens who had accepted Loghain…

…her.

"_Don't go," she pleaded._

"_This wasn't my choice," he said, his voice broken and his dark eyes empty of everything except bitter torment and heartbreak. "I had these dreams…they don't matter now." He turned away from her. "Take care of yourself."_

The brilliant pinpricks of light in the dark sky blurred. Her breath burned in her lungs.

"Andraste's sword…he's going to rip me to shreds better than a horde of Shrieks ever could."

She ran both shaking hands through her hair then sank down to her knees in the grass, unbuckling Starfang to let the weapon thump softly beside her. After a moment she reached both hands to the back of her neck, unlatching the amulet she'd worn since receiving it in the Gauntlet that protected Andraste's Ashes. Rubbing her thumb over the etching in the front, she reversed it to look at the mirror-polished backing and, as always, caught a glimpse of a smiling, encouraging face reflected in the metal.

It was her mother this time. Eleanor and Bryce Cousland had fought often enough when they'd lived, yelled loudly enough to rattle the stone walls of Highever, but their love had always been true and strong, binding them together to the very end.

Asleena blinked back tears and closed her fingers over the amulet, wrapping both hands around it.

Sometimes it was her father or Fergus she saw in the amulet, Leliana or Wynne, even Sten had appeared a couple of times right before some fearsome battles were to take place, though it was hard to tell whether or not the qunari was actually smiling.

Alistair's face had been reflected many times in the past as well, but never since the Landsmeet.

Soft steps approached from behind and paused short of reaching her side.

"Do you ever wonder," she asked without looking back, "what your life would have been like had a certain path not been taken?"

"Sometimes," Zevran's voice replied. "Had I not run away from Antiva City when I was a child, then run away from the Dalish not long after, I would not have been picked up by the slavers. I would not have been sold to the Crows. I would not be here."

"Had I not betrayed Alistair—"

"Stop, Asleena." He came around in front of her and crouched down to her eye level, forcing her to look at him. He frowned at her. "Why do you do this to yourself? You spared Loghain because you thought it the best course of action. You did not betray Alistair—he judged himself betrayed. Had _he _not tried to take a throne he said he had no desire for, _you_ would not have been put in the position of choosing between him and Anora."

She stared at the ground. "It's just as bad that he counts himself betrayed."

"Trust me, my dear, I know something of betrayal. You, at least, did not allow the one you care for to be murdered. And you…" He stopped, as though bracing himself, then went on: "You, at least, have a chance to seek forgiveness."

She looked at him then. The campfire was some distance behind her, but it was still bright enough to catch the gold glints in his eyes. "We're not just talking about me and Alistair anymore, are we?"

There was a long pause, then Zevran sighed. "No," he agreed quietly, "we are not."

"You did love her."

Guilt and shame shone clearly in his face for a moment, and Zevran averted his gaze. "Rinna was special," he said, "and everything I thought I desired. She made me feel things that, as an assassin, I should not have felt. I had been trained to make my heart cold and I had thought no one could touch it, but she did and it frightened me.

"She was with me and Taliesen on my last mission, the one before I took the Grey Warden contract. During the hunt, Taliesen obtained information that Rinna had accepted a bribe from our mark and betrayed us to him. I agreed she had to die."

"Roja Irrenill said the information was false," Asleena said. "It was an accident, like you told Taelin. You didn't know."

He shook his head. "I did not know…but I did not care. I did not even wish to explore the chance we might be wrong. It was a convenient excuse to be rid of her, this woman who made me feel as I did." His eyes went distant. "She pleaded her innocence and begged for us to spare her. She wept on her knees before us. She told me she loved me." Deeper lines of regret and sorrow marred his features. "I told her I did not care, even if her words were true. I mocked her. I spat on her. And I let Taliesen cut her throat while I watched and laughed."

"Oh, Zevran…" she whispered.

She had never seen this man before. Always he had claimed to have no real regrets about the past, let alone the people he had killed. 'Death happens', he would say, like it never mattered except as part of the job. Life was short, pleasures to be taken whenever they presented themselves, and a heart's only importance was how much gold would be paid to stop one beating permanently. That was how he presented himself and perhaps what he thought he should be to survive in the world…but clearly not who he was.

"When we finished the mission and learned Rinna had not betrayed us," Zevran continued, "I…wished to tell the Crows what we had done. But they already knew."

"What did they do to you?"

"Nothing. They did not care, and told me so. She was just another tool, a weapon to be used until it got broken. Just like the rest of us." He seemed about to say more, but changed his mind at the last moment and stood up. "So you see," he said, looking down at her with a tiny smile, "I know something of betrayal. And I say you did nothing to be ashamed of."

"Zev, wait," she said when he started walking back towards the centre of the camp. She got to her feet and went to where he stood waiting, watching her with an indecipherable expression, revealing nothing of what he might be thinking or feeling after the words that had just been spoken between them.

She realised she didn't know what to say to him then, just as she didn't know what she'd say to Alistair. That she was sorry? That everything would be all right? It was all in the past? She wished…she could make things better, or easier, or less painful.

She stepped closer and hugged him. For a moment he did not move, and then his arms enfolded her carefully, more awkwardly than she would have expected from him, as though he didn't know how to embrace a person without there being more involved, be it danger or dalliance. He did not try to cheapen the gesture by deliberately misconstruing its intent, but when they pulled apart he slid his hand down her left shoulder and arm, all the way to her fingers, which he lifted to his lips and kissed lightly.

"Thank you," he said in a soft and oddly heartfelt voice. Releasing her hand, he backed away a few paces with his eyes still on her, then he turned and strode to his tent, vanishing within.

Asleena watched the canvas flap fall closed before walking back to where she'd left her sword lying in the grass. Realising she still held her amulet clenched in her right hand she looked down at it again, flipping it over. A certain bard's face flitted across the surface, smiling her approval. For some reason, Asleena found herself smiling back.

_Yeah…I should have guessed you'd have_ _liked what just happened, Leliana. _

_You were the only other person who ever seemed to care about giving him a chance._

* * *

Morning came, bathing the valley in golden light. The few clouds scattered across the sky were highlighted in colours Antivan poets would have swooned over to put down in writing. 'Blushing pink' or 'delicate peach' or something similarly cloying. Zevran tended to prefer poems that involved blushing women rather than clouds, and as such he found himself observing Asleena rather than the horizon. Not that he didn't make a point of watching the dark-haired Grey Warden as often as he could get away with when she was around, but today he found he was trying to be less obvious about it.

He knew he was falling into the same trap as he had with Rinna, but could not help himself. It was different with Asleena; he had not even tasted this woman's lips, but something about her captivated him all the same. He did not know how to deal with it, and the closer they got to finding Alistair the less chance he felt he had to figure out precisely what he wanted from her. It would have been easy if he could just say 'sex' as an answer to that particular question, but of late he had found he could not.

He had, though, decided on this as fact: she would not give up looking until she found her lover, and if Zevran succeeded in bedding her before then it would go poorly in the end for everyone concerned. Alistair already had enough to be angry about, and Zevran understood these two noble-minded Wardens enough to know that if Alistair challenged Zevran's presence, Asleena would not lie about anything that had happened between the two of them. Whether or not that would push Alistair over the edge into violence he was not sure, but if he'd taken to drinking then Zevran did not want to find out. A brawl involving all three of them would be very bad.

There was also the high likelihood that Alistair would simply reject his love out of hand if Zevran had taken her. If this happened, there was a good chance Asleena would blame herself, and Zevran by extension, for ruining her chances of reconciliation. It might destroy the relationship they currently had. She might send him away or ask him to leave.

He smiled wryly to himself. No, it would be safer all around if he stood by his decision to bide his time and wait to see how the dice fell. He had known for a long time, after all, that she considered herself Alistair's. Until that changed, Zevran would be patient. And if it did not…

…well, at least that didn't mean he had to stop looking.

She eyed him from the other side of the camp, where she was forcing a folded section of her tent into a bag. "What _are_ you ginning at?" she demanded.

"You, naturally, my dear."

"Any particular reason why?"

"Is there a reason why a man cannot admire the view on a morning like this? The sloping valleys, the undulating curve of the hills…it is quite a vision, don't you agree?"

"Maker…I can't wait to get out of these leathers and—"

Zevran arched a brow, his grin widening to a slow smirk.

"—into my armour. _Stop grinning!_ Ferrix, pin him to the ground and lick the tattoo off his face!"

"What? Hey!" Zevran shot to his feet and backed away, laughing as Ferrix bounded towards him with his alarmingly long tongue hanging out. "Come now, Asleena, call him off! I'll be good. Or less bad, at any rate. Ferrix, stay!"

Asleena whistled and the mabari trotted back to her side. She rubbed his face with both hands and whispered something—probably about what a good boy he was.

Zevran shook his head and went over to the horses. "What do you have against my tattoo, anyway?" he called.

"Nothing at all. I've always found it rather attractive, to be honest. Probably what it's there for, right? To drive the ladies wild?" She picked up a bag in either hand and carried them over.

Zevran turned the left side of his face towards her when she reached him. "Is it working yet?"

"It's always working, Zev," she said dryly. "Didn't you listen to what I just said? I like it."

"You aren't thinking of getting one of your own, are you? Because I should advise you not to try asking the Dalish. They get tetchy about that kind of talk."

She chuckled. "No, I don't want one. Not on my face, at least."

"Ooh…"

"Shut it." Grinning, she swung into her saddle and took the reins. "Will we get there today, do you think?" she asked, in a more serious tone.

"The Minanter River, yes." Zevran mounted. "We can ford it, leave the horses at the outer camp the Dalish spoke of then enter the forest on foot if you are eager to go in after nightfall. I do not think fighting on horseback would be a good idea; you're not quite that good yet and it will be dark." He hesitated, considered a moment, then decided to tell her. "If Alistair and the elves were not mounted, we may well see them tonight."

She nodded, looking faintly worried, but not as much as she had the previous evening. "Them and the darkspawn. Let's go, then."

* * *

They reached the Minanter River an hour before sunset and followed it west until they found a safe place to ford, as Selandel had advised. No matter what Alistair had told the elves, it must not have been bad enough for them to lie about their directions in following him. There was a large encampment of elves on the northern bank of the river amidst the trees, but upon hearing Asleena's claim that she was a Grey Warden and seeing the shield she carried the party was promptly waved in.

"Another Grey Warden?" one of the elves who watched the river approach said once the horses reached the shore. He stared down his nose at the two riders, no mean feat when they were sitting some height above him. "We've been trying to get aid from your order since that column of light pierced the sky in the south. A horde of blighted monsters spills into our forest from a wound in the earth and they send us only two young cubs and your city-spawn servant?"

Zevran laughed aloud, eliciting a scowl from the one who'd spoken. "I like him," he commented to Asleena. "He reminds me of why I left. Ah, childhood memories."

"Leave be, Nellaran," a robed female elf said, and followed up with a string of elvish that made the first nod curtly and back down. She inclined her raven-haired head to Zevran and Asleena. "Andaran atish'an. Enter in peace, strangers. Or as much peace as can be had here."

"We won't trouble you long," Asleena said. "We've come to help with the sharlock nest. I understand another Warden named Alistair is already here?"

"Your fellow Warden headed for the earthwound at dawn this morning, accompanied by a large band of our best hunters. They anticipated it would take all day to fight their way there."

"How bad is it?"

The elf's tattooed brow furrowed. "The place where the fissure opened had been sickly and diseased for almost three seasons, Warden. Our clan avoided the area at first, but when it spread and peaceful animals turned feral, our last Keeper, Turii, went to try and discover the source of the infection. She and her guardians vanished as though the earth had swallowed them whole. Others went looking for her and never returned. Then the sharlocks started to appear and we knew too late we were dealing with blighted land.

"Only a few came at first, but they struck without warning and dragged our kin away when they could. Then there was the light, as Nellaran said, and the land erupted like a burst boil. Entire clans of Dalish have been killed or taken below since that day, Shrieks are everywhere, and those of us who escaped to the fringes of the trees have been too scattered to send in a unified force."

"So…bad, then," Zevran remarked.

"Alistair said there may be a broodmother involved." She looked disturbed. "He said…it might even have been Turii."

"Wonderful," Asleena muttered. She looked at Zevran. "We have to go in. They'll need help."

The Dalish elf woman hefted her carved ironwood staff. "I can lead you to them. If they have cleared a path we may catch up at the earthwound."

"Your help would be welcome," Asleena said, nodding.

"I certainly have no problems with this arrangement," Zevran seconded, giving the elf his customary head-to-toe (with significant pause in the midsection) appraisal.

"Allow me to fetch a few things and I will return swiftly."

"I need to put my armour on," Asleena said, dismounting. "And we need somewhere to leave our horses."

"See to their mounts, Nellaran," the elf said, and the other nodded.

"Yes, Keeper Sindel."


	19. Out of the Shadows

Sindel did not seek to engage either Asleena or Zevran in conversation while leading them into the forest, nor did she show any reaction when their names were revealed. She ran ahead of them and Ferrix, alert for trail signs and trouble, her staff always at the ready. They crossed a wide branch of the Minanter after about a half hour of travel, using the fallen trunk of a massive tree to do so, and once upon the opposite bank they were truly in the Green Dales. It was a much darker green than the Brecilian Forest, more lush, and a lot warmer.

They found the first darkspawn corpses only a few paces inside the treeline. The majority were sharlocks, but there were a couple of genlocks and even a hurlock emissary.

"I read stories of tunnels all the way across Thedas, just beneath the surface," Asleena said, turning an arrow-riddled body over with her foot. "Always thought they were just stories until Ostagar, when the darkspawn came up under the Tower of Ishal."

"The kingdoms of the durgen'len were once spread as far and wide under the land as the shemlen now are above it," Sindel said. "Darkspawn hold those passages now, as they have for centuries, and they keep digging." She gestured they should continue. "Had we known there was a Blight we would have better prepared ourselves for this."

"How could you _not _have known there was a Blight?"

"And what do you mean, 'better prepared'?" Zevran put in. "This has happened before?"

"As to the first, the news we got from humans was always confused, Warden," Sindel replied. "A darkspawn presence, even a massive one, does not always signal a Blight, and no one had reported seeing an archdemon. The official word from Ferelden, such as we heard it, was always that it was no true Blight."

"Damn it, Loghain," Asleena muttered, but then shook her head. Even Cailan had voiced doubt about it being a Blight.

"As to the second," Sindel said, addressing Zevran's question, "it has happened before in the history of our clans, thrice in fact, but not in my lifetime or Keeper Turii's."

"How did your people stop the threats previously?" Asleena asked.

"By diverting the river and flooding the tunnels. And by losing a lot of our kin along the way."

"Is that what Alistair and the others plan to do?"

"If they can get close enough and the mage with them is not killed, then yes."

"The problem being that Shrieks," Zevran noted, "are quite skilled at killing. Good thing we are too, no?"

Sindel glanced back at him briefly before returning her attention to the trail. "You implied you once lived with the Dalish."

"I'm sorry, was there a question in there that I missed?"

"You told Nellaran that he reminded you of 'why you left'."

"Your elven ears are as acute as they are lovely, my black-haired beauty."

Asleena rolled her eyes and tried hard not to grin.

"I am not your black-haired anything. And you will stop looking at my ears."

Zevran chuckled low in his throat. "As you wish. I shall rest my eyes elsewhere."

Sindel chose not to continue the conversation after that, and when Asleena raised a brow at Zevran the assassin merely grinned at her and dropped a wink. She'd seen him fence with their companions back in Ferelden often enough to know this was how he dealt with people prying into his past, deflecting their questions with wit or pure unsubtle flattery. It really was quite remarkable how complimenting a woman's assets could make them lose control of a discussion or abandon it completely.

They travelled deeper into the trees and it became dark, both as the sun set and as they progressed under the dense cover of leaves. They came across more bodies along the way, always darkspawn but this wasn't saying much. Fallen elves could have easily been dragged away later for meat.

"Stop," Asleena said at last, breathing hard after the long stretch of running. She drew her sword. "Company's coming."

"I see and hear nothing," Sindel replied, but Zevran's blades were already out.

"Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn."

_And they can sense us._

The two elves backed closer to her, Sindel casting a spell that sent a ripple of stone-like texture flashing across her skin. Asleena gripped Starfang and stared into the silent forest, but didn't look for movement. Shrieks were almost impossible to see or hear until they struck, so she had to rely on the tainted blood in her veins.

She had never tried to explain what it felt like to anyone, nor had she and Alistair ever discussed it, but they both knew why: it was not an entirely unpleasant sensation. It was a magnetism that sought to draw one closer, an _attraction _which was controlled only by the will of the Warden for however long they could endure, until the call grew strong enough that they headed into the Deep Roads for one final fight.

This was why Riordan had said it didn't matter if a Grey Warden turned away from his oaths; his blood would inevitably lead him back to fighting the darkspawn, no matter where he tried to go.

_You will seek them out, or they will seek you._

Asleena roared a war cry at exactly the same time blood-curdling howls reverberated between the trees, and then dark, gaunt shapes were rearing up out of the brush with blades scything towards the group. Starfang swept up in a vertical arc, taking a Shriek across the chest. It staggered at the force of the blow and Zevran was suddenly there, his long dagger thrusting into the darkspawn's ribcage and his sword lashing out to take its head clean off its shoulders. Asleena guarded the assassin's back as another sharlock closed in, parrying one attack and taking the second across a dragonbone bracer with a horrific screech. She lashed back with her heavier sword and it ducked in past her guard, striking towards her throat. She pulled to the left and growled as she felt the metal wrist-blade pierce her shoulder only to be removed a split second later as Ferrix seized one of the darkspawn's legs in his jaws, jerked it backwards and hamstrung it with a snap of his teeth.

Chilling screams sounded on all sides and three more sharlocks leapt from the darkness and into the fray. One of them jumped straight at Zevran, who ducked and rolled to evade the onslaught only to come up in a whirlwind of steel against the two following it. One of these stiffened and stopped moving as it turned to stone, then shattered as Sindel made a punching motion towards it, projecting an earthen fist into the petrified foe. Zevran killed the other after a back and forth flurry of attacks, his movements almost too fast to follow as he darted in and out of the Shriek's guard, finally finishing it with a kick to the groin then a dagger propelled up through the soft flesh beneath its chin and into the brain.

Asleena stalked the last one, not allowing it to get behind her or dart to her side as she pushed it back with sweeping blows, using her sword's longer reach to its full advantage. It bared its jaws and screamed, then bounded backwards and disappeared into the black.

There was a crackling noise as the butt of Sindel's staff crushed the throat of the Shriek Ferrix was mauling. "Is that all of them?"

"Shh." Asleena kept Starfang ready. "Keep well away from me. The last one's not running."

Zevran chuckled, grinning after the fight, and pulled back near a tree where he dropped into a crouch.

There was not a breath of wind, and no sound. Asleena listened to the beat of her heart and the rush of blood. She held perfectly still, letting it come up behind her until it was so close she could sense its presence along every nerve, and then she whirled with a powerful two-handed sweep, twisting in a complete circle that sheared the Shriek in half and splashed darkspawn blood across the tree trunks.

"Invigorating," Zevran remarked. He wiped his sword clean and made a face. "They still smell horrible, however."

"This from the man who likes the smell of tanning leather."

The assassin laughed. "I never said I _liked _it, I just said it reminded me of home."

"Are we close?" Asleena asked Sindel.

"We're almost there," the elf confirmed. She levelled her staff to point north. "The earthwound is that way, but it looks like my kin and the Grey Warden headed further west, possibly circling the area to clear it out first."

"I can sense more darkspawn that way," Asleena said, nodding north. "A fairly heavy concentration. They're…fighting."

"Alistair?" Zevran guessed.

"I can't tell. They'd be drawn to him, though..." She stared in the direction Sindel had indicated. Somehow she knew, but if that was some Grey Warden sense or something deeper than the tainted blood they shared she had no idea. "He's there," she said quietly.

"What do you want to do?"

Asleena drew and released a long breath, her heart pounding from more than just the battle they'd just come through. She'd thought of this moment even before leaving Ferelden. She'd hoped for it, dreamed of it, dreaded it. She'd gone over conversations in her head, trying to guess what he'd say and what she'd reply with until she thought she'd go mad with stress and doubt.

Zevran, Sindel and Ferrix all looked at her, waiting for an answer.

"We go north," she decided.

* * *

After half a week in the saddle, it was almost a relief to be running again. Asleena didn't think she'd ever get tired of riding, and had thought seriously about talking Fergus into having a stable built at Highever, but after all those months of walking and running around Ferelden she'd never thought she'd actually _miss _the sensation of ground passing beneath her feet, ducking under branches or vaulting logs. It was strange to be feeling about such things at a time like this, with darkspawn around and Alistair so close, but there it was, and she concentrated on the sensation like it was an anchor keeping her from turning tail to flee in the opposite direction.

Zevran kept close to her side, glancing at her now and again but never speaking. There was an edge of worry to the assassin's manner, a protective overtone even. He knew she was afraid. She tried to give him a bracing smile and he grinned in reply, but it was a wistful echo of his usual confidence.

"Look out," she said suddenly, pulling up short as her blood screamed a warning. "They've seen us!"

Almost at once black shapes jumped them from the trees and inhuman shrieks split the air. Zevran and Sindel were taken by surprise at the ambush and staggered beneath the attack, and it was all Asleena could do to try and defend them and draw the attention of their foes. Ferrix howled his own deep cry and the Grey Warden focussed her energies to unleash the smiting technique of the Templars, wreathing the sharlocks in blue and white fire. The two elves recovered and retaliated, tearing into the darkspawn with steel and magic. One of them turned to stone; Asleena split it down the middle with a mighty overhand swing. Ferrix knocked one down; Zevran darted in to deliver a killing blow.

"Just like old times," Zevran laughed, twisting out of the way as a Shriek's blades scissored towards his neck.

Asleena found herself grinning as well despite the tenseness of the situation and the glancing blows she'd sustained. Killing darkspawn might be dangerous and bloody work, but it was straightforward and unburdened by any need for mercy or restraint or morality. All that needed to be worried about was staying alive and destroying the enemy before they could destroy you. You didn't have to be a hero or even a good person…you just had to know how to fight.

Sindel chanted and a surge of healing energy surrounded the party. "They're driving us closer to the fissure!" she shouted, fending off an attack with her staff.

And then they were in the open and fighting a furious defence. Asleena took quick stock of their situation. At least five Shrieks pushing against them from skeletal, diseased-looking trees, and not too far behind was an extremely sharp drop, a yawning chasm that split the ground.

"Maker's breath," Asleena said suddenly, realising something. "Where's Ferrix?!"

Her guard was dropped just long enough for a Shriek to take advantage and gouge a blade into her lower chest. Asleena roared in pain and kicked the darkspawn backwards, swearing furiously. "Ferrix!" she shouted, and a dreadful howl answered her from somewhere back amidst the trees. "We have to go back!"

"We're in no position to do that right now, in case you hadn't noticed," Sindel retorted, thrusting out with a fist and hurling a sharlock backwards, where it crumpled against a tree. "You said the others would be here, Warden! Where are they?"

"They're…north…"

Asleena turned around.

_They're on the other side of the earthwound._

A swarm of Shrieks on the far edge were fighting a vicious combat against a group of heavily armed elves, who were knotted together in tight formation with a human man…a man who plunged his burning sword into the chest of a darkspawn and shouted a battle cry in a familiar voice.

Asleena felt air fill her lungs.

"Alistair!"

His head turned sharply. At his name? At her voice? She saw his eyes widen. Then a pair of Shrieks were on him, taking advantage of his distraction to tear him to the ground. Their blades rose and fell as they stabbed down.

"Oh, Maker…_NO!_"

"Asleena!" Zevran's voice shouted, sounding closer to panic than he'd ever heard. "Look—!"

Something struck her hard, lifting her clear off the ground and over the edge of the fissure. Starfang flew from her grip and spun a glittering arc as it tumbled into the abyss. Asleena flailed wildly, brushed something with her hands and grabbed with all her strength. Dry and dead wood, brittle from age, creaked with the weight of its sudden burden. Snarls from somewhere below caught her attention and she looked down, dizzy, her heart pounding in her ears. A single Shriek was clinging to the edge of the fissure below Zevran and Sindel's position, and it was looking straight at her as though judging its chances for a flying leap.

"Hold on!"

Asleena tried to pull herself up, felt the branch give a little more and froze. The muscles in her shoulders and arms burned with the effort of supporting the weight of herself and her armour, and she felt a giddy urge to laugh; she finally wears the stuff into battle again and it's going to be the death of her. Her hands started to shake. She turned her head to the right, trying to see Alistair, but the deadfall was blocking her view. She looked left to her companions, watching as Sindel threw herself clear of a sharlock's attack and Zevran launched himself at an ogre, driving his sword and dagger into its throat with a single motion of the dual blades. She felt her handhold tremble as the weight of the beast's fall carried through the ground.

She heard the Shriek below her shift its stance on a narrow ledge, saw the slitted eyes narrowing even further as it prepared to jump.

And she felt that familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach, clenching around her heart and lungs.

_I am going to die._

_

* * *

_

Zevran wrenched his blades free and jumped from the ogre's chest, taking the Shriek that was harrying Sindel from behind. The Keeper summoned another burst of healing magic then gestured, petrifying another sharlock that had emerged from the trees.

"I can't keep this up!" she gasped.

Zevran knew what she meant. "Keep down," he ordered tersely, and plunged into the middle of the remaining darkspawn. Not for nothing had he once boasted about being the best assassin in Antiva. He used every trick he knew and every weapon in his arsenal, striking and evading, twisting aside and taking advantages as they presented themselves. The poison he'd anointed his blades with before leaving the Dalish encampment complemented the paralytic and silverite runes they were enchanted with perfectly, and after a brief but furious struggle he alone was left standing.

_Bleeding heavily…yes, but standing._

He staggered towards the edge of the chasm. Asleena was too far out to reach by hand and in no position to pull herself to safety no matter how strong she was. The branch of the fallen tree she clung to was a gnarled and withered thing, no doubt weakened still further by the blighted land its roots had been sunk into.

_What is she looking at…?_

With a piercing scream, a Shriek flew into view from the inner edge of the earthwound. Clawed fingers wrapped around Asleena's right ankle and leg, bringing a rasping tear from the branch and an abrupt drop in height. Zevran's bow was automatically off his shoulder and an arrow nocking to the string. Asleena gasped aloud and kicked down with her left foot, trying to dislodge her unwanted passenger as it tore a dragonbone greave free and tossed it aside.

"Hold still!" the assassin shouted and she heard, but even as her struggles ceased the Shriek twisted both hands in opposite directions and there was a distinct sound of breaking bone.

Asleena screamed.

Zevran's arrow took the sharlock through its left eye. It let go and tumbled into the rift.

"You should know, my Grey Warden," Zevran chided lightly, "not to get distracted in the middle of a fight, hm?"

She grinned weakly. Too weakly. "Sorry," she whispered.

"Hold on, now, Asleena," he said, approaching the deadfall. He kept calm, remained cold and in charge of himself. It was no time to go losing his head while she was dangling over a terminal drop.

"Don't be an idiot," Sindel said, coming up beside him and spending some energy on a healing spell that closed many of his wounds. "You won't be strong enough to pull her up."

Zevran halted, knowing she was right. "I have rope," he remembered aloud, and dropped his pack to pull out a long coil. He lashed one end around a likely looking tree and returned with the rest wrapped around one arm.

"Alistair?" Asleena asked in an unsteady voice.

Zevran looked to the other side of the earthwound. There was no sign of anyone over there, though corpses aplenty littered the ground, little more than dark shapes in the moonlight. "I cannot see him," he replied and prayed for her sake that it was true.

"Ferrix?"

"I do not know." He began to crawl out along the dead trunk. If he could tie the end of the rope around one of her wrists…

"Zev?"

He met her green eyes reluctantly.

"Thanks. For coming. I wouldn't have made it this far—"

"We still have a way to go yet, my Grey Warden," he told her, but he saw her fingers slipping. Her face was pale and drenched with perspiration, and he knew then he would never reach her in time. "Do something!" he shouted at the useless elf standing on the edge.

The Keeper motioned with her staff and lines of green light spun around Asleena's form, encasing her in a shimmering emerald net. "That will give her a chance, at least," Sindel said quietly.

"A _chance_?" he spat.

"The Lifeward will protect her. The fall won't kill her." Sindel looked down. "She can fight them beneath the earth, as all Grey Wardens do in the end."

"Zev?"

His eyes jerked back to her. "Asleena, hold on," he ordered, and crawled closer. Dead wood creaked beneath him.

"I can't," she whispered. Tears sprang to her eyes. "Tell Fergus I'm sorry."

Zevran lunged forwards, throwing himself flat against the trunk and reaching desperately as she lost her grip.

He swore afterwards, as he watched her disappear into the darkness below, that their fingertips had touched.


	20. Into the Night

_Author's note: Sorry for the delay, life got busy all of a sudden. Please don't kill me. XD_

* * *

Zevran lost track of how long he stared down into the black, his arm still hanging below him. He couldn't shake the last image of her face from his mind, white and afraid and suddenly looking as young as she truly was…not the mighty hero everyone saw her as…not the indomitable Grey Warden who had ended the Blight.

"I'm sorry, Zevran," a voice that was not hers said from somewhere behind him. It even sounded sympathetic.

_Sorry for what? She is not dead._

He had to move. He had to go after her, not lie here uselessly.

He managed to transfer his gaze from the fissure to his fingers, which was no better a focus point, for he was wearing the leather gloves she had given him. He rarely went without them. She had remembered some nonsense he'd told her about his mother, come across these one day and…thought of him.

"_Do I seem surprised? Perhaps I am. No one has simply…given me a gift before. Thank you"_

But she had been like that. Forever listening to the idle talk of her companions and giving them gifts she thought they might like, not because she wanted anything in return but because she enjoyed seeing them happy. As far as Zevran was aware, Alistair was the only one who had ever thought to give her something tangible in return…just a rose, but how she had smiled at the man upon receiving it…

"We shouldn't linger here," Sindel's voice broke through his reverie.

Zevran withdrew his hand and curled his fingers, listening to the supple Dalish leather creak at the movement. He reached carefully to a hidden pocket sewn on the inside of his shirt and felt the hardness of a jewelled earring press through the material. He had thought…several times…but never the right moment…never appropriate…

Now it may well be never at all.

He crawled backwards along the deadfall.

"We should keep moving," Sindel said. "Find the others."

"And then what?" Zevran heard himself reply. "Ask them to help? She might be dead by the time we reach them."

_And how in Andraste's holy name would I explain this to Alistair, presuming he lives? Hah…perhaps riding in to her rescue would break the ice between them. Now there's a thought._

"That's not what I had in mind," Sindel said carefully. Her voice held an odd mixture of pity and resolve. "They might need _our _help, mine specifically, to flood the earthwound."

Zevran set his feet on solid ground and stood very slowly. Now that really was too much. Not only did this elf expect him to walk away, but help her drown Asleena as well? Did she expect Alistair would agree to that? No matter what arguments lay between the two Wardens, he couldn't believe the bastard prince would wish Asleena dead...not if he heard she'd come all this way looking for him.

But it was the death of a single person to destroy this nest of darkspawn and save the Green Dales. Wasn't sacrificing themselves what Grey Wardens did? Perhaps he _would_ agree. Perhaps she would too.

_What does it matter if they agree? It is my choice, not theirs, and I say she will not die._

Zevran faced the Dalish Keeper. "I swore to remain at her side and so I shall. I am going after her." He tossed the coil of rope down into the abyss.

Sindel was shaking her head. "That won't be long enough." She looked at him then away. A soft sigh escaped her lips. "If your heart is set upon this, then abide a time here with me. When I regain some more energy I can put a Lifeward upon you as well. You can jump after her…to whatever end."

Zevran accepted this and did not allow his mind to dwell upon the consequences. It would certainly get him down there faster than climbing, and there had to be another way out than up, one the darkspawn used. "You can follow," he told Sindel. "She will need a healer. I am guessing you would also like to find out what became of your mentor Turii."

The Keeper looked dubious but tempted at the last, just as he'd hoped. "My duty should be to my people and ending this threat. But…I could get in and out of that place more easily than anyone…"

"How do you mean?"

"I am Blessed of Andruil," Sindel said with a faintly proud smile. "The forms of the hawk and the hare are mine."

Zevran's brows lifted. "You are a shapeshifter?"

The other elf shook her head. "Not in the way the magi would classify it. What I can do is a gift of the Lady of the Hunt, not an art I have learned at the feet of another. It has been thus even before I took the vallaslin of the goddess." She strode up to the edge of the chasm. "I can put a Lifeward upon you, Zevran, then turn into a hawk. I would have to hold on to your armour with my talons or risk getting separated from you in the dark on the way down. But the landing might still injure or kill me," she muttered. "I can't put a Lifeward upon myself. No, that won't work…"

"The rope," Zevran suggested quickly. "I will untie it from the tree and bind it to my arm. You can hold the free end, and when it becomes slack you would know when I hit the ground."

"Yes…yes, that will work!"

Zevran hurried to retrieve the rope, first pulling up the greater length from the earthwound then untying the rest from the tree. As he did the second task, he found himself looking off into the forest and thinking of Ferrix. That the warhound had not shown up by now…if he was dead it would be a harsh blow to Asleena, but Zevran could not risk taking the time to find the mabari, alive or otherwise.

"Understand," Sindel said, "that I won't stay down there if it becomes too dangerous or if it starts to flood, nor do I know how you might escape. I will heal your friend as I can, _if _I can, and you if you need it, but I haven't been the Keeper of my clan for long. I don't even have an apprentice yet…much would be lost to my people if I died and I can't allow that."

"Then I'm surprised you came with us at all," Zevran said, securing a knot around his left arm. "Was _that_ not dangerous for you?"

"Some would say so…mostly those who went with Alistair," she muttered, not quite softly enough for Zevran not to hear, "but I argue I could slip away as a hare at any time." She concentrated, motioned with her staff and Zevran was entwined with the same shimmering green lines that had surrounded Asleena. It was a spell Wynne had used on occasion as well, and with the magic came the familiar comforting sense of security. It would be wrong to think of it as invulnerability, more of a safety net, similar to what some circus troupes used for their more dangerous stunts. Some people thought that with such a net in place a man should have no fear of the fall.

Those people would not say such things were they to stand as high as the performers did.

Zevran hauled himself atop the deadfall and walked along the creaking wood, ignoring the hammering of his heart and trying very hard not to look at the gaping blackness below him. He had to get out as far as Asleena had, if only because jumping straight from the edge of the fissure might bang him against the stone slope and kill him before he reached the ground. His eyes focussed on the dead wood beneath his feet, and the Antivan boots he wore.

Another gift from Asleena, he recalled…

"Are you ready?" Sindel called.

Zevran looked over, sucked in a breath and nodded tersely.

Sindel put her staff away and spread her arms, flaring them up above her head like a dancer might. There was no slow change, nor the lengthy wait that had always accompanied Morrigan's shapechanging, merely a soft sound as of rushing feathers and a touch like the passing of a breeze and the elf woman was gone, replaced by a dark-feathered and fierce-eyed bird of prey. She fluttered low to the ground with strong beats of her wings, snatched up the free end of the rope in both claws and flew out over the abyss, below the deadfall and Zevran's position upon it but out of the way. The hawk shrieked once and Zevran nodded again. He tugged the rope that was still lying on the ground out so that it hung into the darkness and wouldn't catch on anything, held his backpack with its precious contents of vials and jars to his chest and crossed both arms protectively over it.

Fixing his eyes on the moon, drawing another deep inhalation, the assassin fell backwards and counted silently as the stars disappeared from the sky one by one…

* * *

_Tha-thump…_

Zevran's form dwindled and vanished far above, swallowed by a rush of air and night. The last thing Asleena remembered seeing clearly was his hair; illuminated by the moon it had surrounded his face like a pale halo.

_Tha-thump…_

She clenched her eyes shut. Her broken leg pulsed agony with every beat of her heart. Her shoulders and arms still burned, but the sore muscles were relaxing now. She could feel the wind passing between her outstretched fingers as she tumbled down.

_Tha-thump…_

The fall would not kill her. That's what Sindel had said. Asleena couldn't help wondering if it would still _hurt_. How long would she last down here without her sword and with a broken leg? Hours? Seconds? Would they pounce on her as soon as she crashed to the ground? Kill her quickly? Eat her flesh while she still drew breath?

Grey Warden she might be, but not for that long. She wasn't supposed to take this walk for another thirty years.

_Tha-thump…_

Funny…when Alistair had told her how long she had to live after drinking that blood, it had sounded far too short. Now she'd have been grateful for half those years…or just one more of them.

She didn't want to leave all her friends behind, Ferrix lost or her brother alone.

She didn't want to die.

_CRUNCH._

Asleena's shriek of pain as the agony of landing jarred her leg was muffled by whatever she'd landed in, and came close to blacking her out. Blinding white specks flashed angrily before her eyes and her whole body jerked in an excruciating spasm as she folded around herself, sobbing uncontrollably. It felt an age before she could even think past the torture pounding in her leg, but when she finally recovered some of her senses it was only to have her mind flooded by another sensation.

_Taint._

Gasping for air through her tears, she strained to uncurl her body and master herself. If the darkspawn came upon her while she was incapacitated by pain she wouldn't survive long at all. Breathing hard through her nose, she forced her fingers to scrape at the substance she'd landed in and at that point noticed the emerald web of the Lifeward was still flickering around her limbs, a brilliant light in the fire-tinged darkness. Whatever was beneath her had cushioned her fall, sparing her fatal injury.

It was…yielding and blubberous and felt like…felt like _flesh_…

_TAINT._

She held still, heart pounding with realisation. Moving slowly, both from caution and because her hands refused to stop shaking, she unbuckled Duncan's shield from her back and strapped it securely to her left arm. The tightness of the leather strap and the grip of the handle in her fist steadied her some.

_In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death…_

Asleena set her jaw and reached for her belt.

Her dagger flashed into her right hand just as one of the broodmother's tentacles wrapped around her torso and jerked her into the air.


	21. Holding On

Sweat, pain, the screech of metal, the tearing of flesh, bright red blood and voices…shouts, cries, screams in the darkness.

Asleena's roar was without words, a noise born of pure defiance. She vented her wrath in the broodmother's very face as it whipped her nearer its vast bulk, the tentacle gripping her once again trying, and failing, to clench and crush her dragonbone cuirass. As she had the last time, and the time before that, the Grey Warden waited until she was as close as she could bear before lashing out with her small blade, stabbing towards eyes and mouth and throat. The broodmother howled and recoiled, thrusting her away but not dropping her.

The monstrous creature was every bit as corpulent and disgusting as the one she'd seen in the Deep Roads, and there was nothing at all to even suggest it had once been an elf, let alone a Keeper of the Dalish. Mindless except for hunger and rage and the taint that drove its will to breed and reproduce for the darkspawn masses, it was a thing to drive terror into even the staunchest heart—particularly the heart of a woman. A small mercy that Asleena was a Grey Warden and immune to the same fate…she had no need to worry about becoming a hurlock breeding ground, only about being torn apart and eaten to sustain the insatiable appetite of an abomination that could give birth to entire litters of sharlocks at a time.

Its face, upper chest and swollen arms were already a mass of cuts and gashes where previous dagger-thrusts had landed; entire slabs of meat had been cut away in places, exposing muscle or bone. While not difficult to strike due to its sheer size, it was incredibly hard to deliver a killing blow. Where the heart beat beneath the noisome rolls of bloated flesh was impossible to tell, nor would Asleena's weapon have been long enough to reach it in any case. The thick neck and the head, the brain, were her only chances for a swift victory, and for that she relied upon the broodmother keeping her aloft. The tentacle grasping her she could not hack at, regardless of her soul-deep desires to the contrary. Not only would that drop her to ground level, it would land her on her bad leg, and Maker only knew if she'd be able to keep going after that shocked her system.

Her mind, everything in her that wanted to survive and kill this tainted atrocity, had been kicked into high speed. Past battles and experience leapt unerringly to the fore with a clarity that only truly shone through in the most desperate of conflicts, and she let that knowledge consume her every thought, hold back the physical agony that sapped her strength, fend off black despair, shield against panic. In other struggles, back during the Blight, her companions would have rallied around her when she was like this, drawn to her side as though she were some kind of oasis amidst a storm of battle-madness.

But she was alone here.

Other tentacles battered at her head and shield when she was held at a distance. Too bulky to grasp her dagger, the shield was large enough for the tip of a tentacle to wind around and attempt to rip it from her arm, but _that _she could stab at, and she did so without mercy, covering herself with gobbets of gore and tainted blood before the abused limb pulled away.

The broodmother held her at a safe distance then, ceasing its onslaught and simply leering at her. Something seemed to be going on behind those taint-maddened eyes.

Asleena used the brief respite to wipe blood from her eyes, then readied herself once more. "What are you waiting for?" she grated. "Come on!"

There was a hideous bubbling sound, a mockery of laughter, then the tentacle moved. Asleena saw a brief blur of flesh and rock as she was wrenched around, then the pressure around her midsection was gone and she was hurtling straight for a jagged stone wall at breakneck speed.

It should have killed her.

The Lifeward flared…

* * *

…and winked out.

The network of green lines shattered, counteracting the harsh jolt of killing pain that tore through Zevran's body. Impact with solid rock should have smashed his skull and broken half the bones in his body. He almost cried out, but Crow training took control, keeping him almost completely silent even though his mind had been convinced Death finally whispered his name and curled possessive fingers around his heart.

He shook phantom voices from his head and tried to roll onto his side, biting back a groan of agony. The spell might have saved his life, but it had not made him impervious to harm. He was bleeding, most of it from his ears and nose he realised, badly bruised, and would not have been at all surprised had a chirurgeon told him several internal organs had just been pulped.

Retaining enough presence of mind to tug at the rope bound to his arm and guide Sindel to his location, he lay still and quiet and looked around for immediate threats. He could not have landed far away from—

Asleena's voice split the night, very close, savage and in terrible pain. Zevran was on his feet without a second thought, though his head spun as soon as he stood. He staggered sideways and bruised his knuckles when he thrust out a hand to brace himself against a rocky outcropping, misjudging the distance. Gripping the rope again he tugged more urgently, and there was a beating of wings as the hawk descended then changed form before touching ground.

Sindel gave the assassin a single glance through the gloom then touched his shoulder and whispered something. A blue glow suffused her hand and regenerative energies surged through Zevran's body.

"Give it a moment," she breathed, bringing her staff to hand. "I saw from above. There is light and a monster. That way."

Zevran did not heed the part about waiting, setting off quickly in the direction indicated as he shouldered his pack and drew his blades. When his left foot pressed down on something that was not solid he jerked back and canted his sword to strike, but it was no darkspawn lying in wait or even a body. More a puddle or mound of…something…He ignored it and Sindel's sharp intake of breath both, pressing ahead with greater speed as the noise of something ahead became more distinct.

The passage widened into a cavernous expanse, the floor awash with offal and afterbirth, dominated by a creature that no explanation of Leliana's could have sufficiently described. When the bard had returned from the Deep Roads with Oghren, Alistair and Asleena, her usual flair for words had failed her upon reaching the part about the broodmother. _None _of the party that had faced the thing had wanted to fully explain it, though Oghren had gotten drunk enough at one point to say 'breasts', 'tentacles' and 'Branka was sodding crazy' by way of explanation, which Zevran had found amusing at the time.

He felt no inclination to laugh now.

The grotesque thing was reared back, its laughing attention fixed upon a lone human woman held within the grip of two tentacles. One of these encircled Asleena's breastplate while the other gripped both of her legs in a maliciously gentle coil. The Grey Warden's spine was arched, eyes wide and rolled back, lips parted in a soundless scream. The broodmother might not have even been trying to wrench the limbs from her body; just pressing upon a broken bone with enough force could render anyone completely helpless.

She had no weapon in her right hand, Zevran noted quickly, but Duncan's shield was strapped to her left. She was covered in blood, but so too was the broodmother's face and neck. She'd put up a fight.

"Take my sword," he said, reversing it to offer the hilt to Sindel, who transferred her horrified gaze from the broodmother to him. "If that thing drops Asleena, get to her side and put this in her hands."

"What will _you _do?" she hissed.

"Take the sword!" he snapped, and she obeyed. "Can you heal her?"

"I can't repair her leg! I can do what I can, but—"

"Then do what you can." He pulled out a second dagger, the twin of the first, another of the Thorns of the Dead Gods. "Stay hidden while I get its attention."

She drew a breath, nodded and crouched down beside the rocky wall. "Mythral protect you, Andruil guide your blades."

Zevran stepped lightly into the cavern and circled, avoiding the flesh-piled ground where he could, wary eyes alert. He wanted to move swiftly to spare Asleena further torment, but haste would see him snared if he acted too soon. When he was positioned directly in front of the broodmother's bloated chest he gathered himself, flipped both daggers so that the blades pointed down, then sprinted across the floor and _jumped_, driving his weapons into the blubberous mass he launched himself upon. Without pause, barely heeding the surprised roar from above, the assassin pulled one blade free and drove it higher, then the other, again and again like a climber with rock-spikes might scale a troublesome cliff…

* * *

The pain receded. Her right leg still screamed agony, but it was nothing compared to the debilitating torture that had paralysed her moments ago. Healing energy seared through her body, as warm and welcome as sunlight, and for a couple of blissful seconds she lost herself completely in the sensation.

"_Asleena!_" a familiar Antivan voice roared.

Her head came up and she gasped suddenly at the distance between herself and the ground. The broodmother was still holding her aloft but its attention had been diverted from her for the moment, its other tentacles smacking down repeatedly at the head and back of a blond elf who was making a spirited attempt to hack its neck open with his daggers.

_Zevran?_

_And…is that Sindel on the ground?_

_How the…?_

The tentacle gripping her moved and she grabbed at it instinctively, heart leaping into her throat. She did _not _want to get thrown against a wall again, but the broodmother had other ideas. Instead of hurling her across the cavern, it drove her towards Zevran, coming in from the side to sweep him away.

"Look out!" she yelled and he heard just in time to avoid being hit. He released one dagger from the bloody furrow in the broodmother's throat and dropped down lower, but maintained his hold on the blade buried in its collarbone. Then, with his free hand, he reached out and grabbed at Asleena's as she hurtled past. Their fingers locked and the connection skewed the tentacle's path. Momentum swung Asleena around, right up close to the broodmother's bloodied neck, and battle-sense took over without her heart even skipping a beat. The flat edge of Duncan's silverite shield lifted and plunged into the open wound, driven deep by the broodmother's own strength, to the telling sound of tearing gristle.

Zevran's grip tightened as the tentacle holding her stiffened and yanked in an automatic reflex that would have dashed her against the floor. His face tightened with strain but he did not let go…then a terrible shudder ran through the broodmother's bulk and it listed to one side, the tentacles falling away to coil upon the floor.

Asleena, half-lying across the monster's shoulder with her shield and left arm buried three quarters of the way through its neck, paused a moment to catch her breath and come to terms with the fact that she was somehow alive_, _then grinned down at Zevran with unabashed relief.

The assassin squeezed her hand and grinned back. "Royally tough to kill," he said quietly.


	22. Victims of Circumstance

_Hekateras – You are right, in retrospect, it probably did detract from the drama, something I didn't think of. Sometimes the thoughts rattle ahead, I guess. ;) To answer your question, it's more accurate to say Asleena *believes* she's safe from becoming a broodmother, and doesn't want to consider the alternative is possible. Fates worse than death are sometimes deliberately ignored, and hopefully a part of this chapter will make up for that. ;)_

_Thank you yet again to all reviewers for your enthusiasm, encouragement and constructive criticism. ^_^ And to all the Alistair lovers out there, patience is a virtue… *evil grin*_

_

* * *

_"Alistair said I wouldn't want to know what became of Turii," Sindel said, wrapping a bandage around Asleena's splinted leg. "He wouldn't explain anything, except that she'd be…tainted and forced to reproduce. I thought that was bad enough in itself, but I can see now why he kept so silent."

"Women have a different reaction to the Taint than men," Asleena said, trying to concentrate on the discussion rather than the throbbing ache in her calf. "The darkspawn know this, and try to turn us. I'm sorry you had to see it."

The elf shook her head slightly, her hands remaining steady in her work. "I am glad I saw it ended. Her spirit is free now. It is…good to know." She hesitated. "Would…they have tried to turn you into one of those things?"

"Grey Wardens are—" Asleena caught herself before she could give away secrets. Saying 'tainted' might raise awkward questions. "We're different," she amended, "and we have certain immunities. Darkspawn recognise us as a threat, so they'd just kill me."

Sindel continued wrapping for a moment, then said in a careful voice, "I heard that when the people of your order reach a certain age, they go into the Deep Roads to die fighting the darkspawn. It has something to do with your long association with tainted creatures…it catches up with you in the end, despite your immunities, and you know when your time has come." Asleena nodded at this, so Sindel continued. "Men who are tainted…go mad and eventually die. But women who are tainted…the strong ones…"

Asleena stared at her, feeling a physical twist of sickness in her gut at the implications.

"_You know…" Alistair had said once back when they'd first met, "it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?"_

_By the Maker and all His works…_

Was that the reason? Did the Wardens shy away from recruiting women because their ultimate end could be so much worse? Would she start _mutating_ when her time became short? Could she even have normal children? Motherhood had never been a dream of hers, but now it sounded like it might be a sodding _nightmare_.

"I should not have brought it up, especially not here," Sindel said apologetically, noticing Asleena's expression. "It was imprudent of me."

"No, I…it's all right." Asleena swallowed back bile. She felt ill, and her gaze was drawn back inexorably to the sagging hulk of the dead broodmother.

"It was just…I consider it brave of you, of all the Wardens. You could leave and never fight a darkspawn again. If you can sense them you can avoid them, avoid the Taint and its consequences, but you don't."

_How little the world knows. How much we keep from them. And how few would willingly seek to join our ranks if they knew the truth._

"Asleena, you look like you're about to empty your stomach," Zevran's voice remarked as the assassin himself bounded up beside them. "Not a flattering expression. I told you we should have moved out of this disgusting place…the stench is incredible."

"Did you find anything?" Sindel asked, sparing Asleena from thinking of a reply.

Zevran flourished the items in his right hand. "One missing dagger and one dragonbone greave," he said, handing both to Asleena, "one mage staff…Dalish make?"

Sindel looked at it. "It's ironbark, but I don't recognise the work. It may have been from another clan."

"That's all I found which was intact," Zevran said. "Plenty of discarded weapons and ruined armour, all eaten by darkspawn blood I fear."

"Bodies?" Asleena made herself ask.

The assassin shook his head. "Some remains, but nothing…fresh, as it were."

"They might still be on the surface," Sindel said, her words echoing Asleena's thoughts. She finished tying the bandage and stood, stretching her shoulders. "If I leave now I might be able to find them before they release the river, and persuade them to wait long enough to get you both to safety."

"What if they are dead?" Zevran pointed out.

"Then I fly back to camp and get help." She and Zevran had already explained how the two of them had come to Asleena's rescue, so the Grey Warden was aware of Sindel's curious abilities. "There are still warriors there, and they will come if I order it. Halentir, our healer, is there as well. He can mend your leg," she added to Asleena. "I've given it some support, but it won't be at all pleasant to walk on. You shouldn't even try."

Asleena started to rise, then took Zevran's hand when he offered it and got to her feet. Sure enough, any connection with the foot of her injured leg and the ground sent pain jolting through her body. "This is going to be annoying," she growled. "And I can't say I like the idea of waiting here of all places. There's bound to be more darkspawn in the area."

"Can you sense anything?"

"Mostly that," she said, pointing at the broodmother. "It's smothering everything else. We're too close."

"Waiting here may not be a wise decision at any rate," Zevran pointed out. He looked at Sindel. "If the elves start to flood the earthwound before you reach them, or refuse to wait, Asleena and I will be swimming in more than darkspawn filth."

The Keeper frowned thoughtfully, one finger tapping her staff. "If we find a good tunnel, one that looks like it actually goes somewhere, I can collapse it. That way, if the ravine floods you will not be at risk of drowning and free to find another way out. And if I return with aid, I can remove the rubble."

Asleena and Zevran looked at each other. "Sounds like a plan," the former said. "All right, let's do this quickly. The sooner you fly out of here the better." Asleena looked up where a few very faint stars could just be seen. Trying for an even tone, she added, "And keep a lookout for my dog, would you please?"

Sindel smiled for the first time Asleena had known the woman. "I will, Warden."

"I saw an opening on the other side of the cavern when I was poking around," Zevran said with a tilt of his head. "I did not explore, but now may be the time."

"Check it out," Asleena said with a nod. "Carefully, Zev."

He grinned at her and handed over the staff he'd found so she could keep her balance on one leg unaided. "Trust me, I think I've had enough excitement for one night. And that's saying something." He hurried off and the two women followed more slowly to a jagged opening leading into the rock. The flicker of firelight could be seen where the passage bended, which looked promising. Even darkspawn needed light to negotiate the Deep Roads.

"Whether it leads to the surface or not I cannot say," Zevran reported when he returned, "but it branches off in several directions and there are signs of activity."

"That's our path then." Asleena looked at the Keeper. "Good luck, Sindel, and thanks for the help so far."

"The honour is mine, Warden, and Zevran too. You have helped the Green Dales and we will not forget it." The elf smiled again. "When we get you both out of here we'll be able to thank you more appropriately, I hope. Is there any message you wish me to give your fellow Warden?"

Asleena could only stare at her for a moment, the question taking her by surprise. "A message…" she managed weakly, "right…"

_Dear Alistair…_

_Asleena and Zevran fell into the earthwound and need your help getting out again. Please come soon?_

_No…_Asleena_ fell into the earthwound and _Zevran_ jumped after her, saving her life. Where were you? You did see her, right? Before she distracted you and got you stabbed by Shrieks…_

_Damn it…_

_Dear Alistair…please just be alive…_

"Tell Alistair," Zevran said dryly, "that Asleena, determined woman that she is, has hunted him down across the Waking Sea and the Free Marches, so it would be nice if he stayed in one place long enough for her to talk to him. No need to mention me, my dear Keeper."

Sindel lifted a quizzical brow but nodded and raised her staff. "Into the tunnel then, and well away from the entrance. Mythral shield you, my friends."

"Thanks for that," Asleena murmured to Zevran.

He put an arm around her waist and took one of hers across his shoulder to help her limp into the passage, then looked at her thoughtfully. "What were you considering before, to look as ill as you did? Or was I right about this place simply smelling bad?"

"Sindel just said some things that made me realise how little I know about the consequences of being a Grey Warden. I was thinking about how differently men and women react to the Taint and…wondering at the reasons behind there being fewer female Wardens than male."

"Are there? This I did not know."

"Alistair mentioned it back when I joined. He didn't know the reason either." She snorted softly. "Lots of things were never explained, before or after. Not that there was ever time, I guess. Anyway, I was looking sick back there because…one day in the future, if I live that long, the Taint will have worked its way through my system and it'll be time to head into the Deep Roads for one last fight before I die. I was wondering…what the symptoms of the Calling are if you're a woman." She hesitated, then said, "And I was wondering what would happen if…if I ever fell pregnant."

"Do you desire children?"

"I could live happily without them, I think." She shrugged. "It was just something that came to mind, that's all. I'll get some answers when we return to Denerim." She limped to a halt and turned with Zevran to watch Sindel prepare her casting. "If I'm going to be Warden Commander of Ferelden, I'll need to know stuff."

"'Stuff?'" he echoed, looking amused.

"Yes." She grinned at him. "All sorts of stuff. The good and the bad. Right now I could fit my extensive knowledge of Grey Warden attributes into a small egg cup. Darkspawn can sense _us_, we can sense _them--_" She froze then looked back to the Keeper, breath hissing in sharply.

There was movement. She could sense movement in the broodmother's chamber.

"_Get out of there!"_ Asleena shouted._ "Run!"_

Sindel's face indicated she'd heard the warning; her face paled and her eyes widened, but she did not break off her incantation. Maybe she couldn't, perhaps it was unsafe for a mage to do so, Asleena didn't know, but it meant she was defenceless.

"We have to help her," she said and tried to go back, but Zevran's arm tightened around her waist as he restrained her.

"You cannot," he warned, "she is collapsing the tunnel!"

"Damn you, let me go! They'll try to turn her!" She wrenched free of him and made it precisely one step before her injured leg buckled beneath her and she fell to her knees with a snarl of pain.

Then there was a rumble of stone as the tunnel shook. Earth and bits of rock began to sift from the roof near the entrance, then collapse with a great roar. Through the diminishing gap, the falling stone and rising dust, Asleena caught a last glimpse of Sindel spinning to confront the Shriek that had suddenly loomed directly behind her, staff whirling, black hair flaring like a fan…then a darkspawn blade stabbed through the elf's midriff.

…and the tunnel was sealed.

* * *

Zevran remained silent as the Grey Warden's head bowed. He heard her swear, very very softly. He wondered if he should be feeling anything over what had just occurred. There was a little regret, perhaps…he had been the one to talk Sindel into coming down here after all, and there was every chance both he and Asleena would have perished without her aid. If the darkspawn did not kill the elf out of hand and had only injured her, she might still escape. The sharlock's blow, though undoubtedly painful had not looked like a mortal one to him.

There was nothing he felt he could say to Asleena that would improve the situation, so he kept a watchful eye on the open section of passage behind them and waited her out. Practicality would dictate that she get up before long, get the body moving even if the mind lingered and brooded.

"Zev?" she asked after a while. "Can you please help me up?"

He could sense the apology in her voice, and reciprocated by complying. Neither of them really had to say it. They also knew, again without speaking, that they were most likely on their own getting out of here. No help would come.

Zevran couldn't deny a guilty feeling of relief that the reunion with Alistair would be delayed, even if that meant putting off the possibility that the two Wardens would decide to go their separate ways for good. It was confusing, as muddling to his mind as the pleasure he took feeling the weight of Asleena's body resting trustingly against his. He'd felt it before when he'd helped her down from the broodmother and half-carried her to Sindel for healing, and after releasing her to the Keeper's care he'd made an excuse to scour the rest of the chamber just to escape the fog in his head.

"I didn't thank you, did I, for swooping in and saving my life?" she said as they began their underground trek.

"Does this mean it's now your turn to save my life, my dear?"

Her lips twitched at that. "Well…I suppose that can make up for both the Hunger Demon _and _Markham. Jumping down a chasm then scaling a broodmother is a story to be proud of. Might even top Fort Drakon." Her fingers tightened a bit on his shoulder. "So, thanks."

Zevran chuckled. "I remember asking you once if you could see me as anything other than an assassin. It would seem I do quite well at rescuing beautiful Grey Wardens in distress, no?"

It was hard to tell if that made her blush since both of them were still covered in darkspawn blood, but she rallied magnificently. "Careful there, Zev…you might ruin your reputation as a stone-cold killer. What would everyone think?"

"Hm, you're right," he said, feigning concern. "No one would take me seriously if that got out. Perhaps I should murder a few people when we reach the surface, just to be safe."

Her eyes became shadowed. "We may have to if Sindel didn't escape. The Dalish might not take kindly to the fact that we left with their Keeper and didn't return with her." She looked ahead with a frown. "But let's worry about getting out of here first. I'll let you know when I can sense any darkspawn."

"Do you wish to avoid them?"

"Only if there are heavy concentrations," she said grimly. "After what happened back there, I'd rather enjoy taking some of the bastards out along the way. Or, in my present state perhaps, luring them out and watching _you _reduce them to kibble."

Zevran grinned. "Well then, I'm sure I can oblige. By the way, did I ever mention how incredibly irresistible you are when you talk about killing things like that?"

"No," she muttered, and he was pretty sure she was blushing this time.

"It's true," he said, pressing his advantage mercilessly. "I saw it right from the start."

"What? As in when I was talking about killing _you_?"They halted at a passage fork. The three new tunnels all looked pretty much the same, dark stone and roughly hewn. Asleena glanced down each, shook her head and nodded towards the one that went straight ahead. "I have no idea where we'll end up. I'm sorry I got you into this mess."

"My dear…as has already been noted, I do believe I jumped in quite willingly."

* * *

Time passed. It was hard to measure exactly how much while they were underground, but Zevran guessed hours at first, then an entire day when hunger began to knot his stomach. And if he was hungry, Asleena must be starving. They never had need to stop to eat, the problem being that neither of them had food as it had all been left with the horses, and neither had any idea of how the dwarves sustained themselves underground if bronto or nug was unavailable.

He and Asleena had fallen mostly silent after they reached the first expanse of dwarven architecture, a broad stone walkway not dissimilar to what could be found beneath Orzammar. Both assassin and Warden were preoccupied with listening for trouble, or feeling for it in Asleena's case, and when they did break the quiet it was usually only a few words and rarely anything more than a discussion of which way to go or what strategy to use against foes that had been spotted.

There were quite a few scuffles, more perhaps than were strictly necessary, though Zevran never felt a need to complain and did not begrudge his companion's need to indulge in a spot of violence. He always made a point of letting at least one get by him so she could make the kill, and she did so, usually sitting atop or leaning against some tumbled structure, a darkspawn-made crossbow she'd acquired cocked and ready. She'd become very good at shooting things straight through the head at point blank range, and he couldn't tell if it was his imagination or if she was deliberately allowing each subsequent target to get a little closer to her before firing. It was an assassin's look he sometimes saw in her face, cold, calculating, satisfaction at the life taken, and it troubled him more than he was willing to admit.

Of greater concern to him was the fact the herbs Sindel had given Asleena to dull the pain of her leg had long since worn off after the first few hours. The Warden never let on, but Zevran had enough experience of pain to know she was doing her best to hide it and endure. The tightness along her jaw, the sweat on her brow and the touch of fever that began to show in her eyes were all too clear, and even though Zevran wanted nothing more than to try and keep her spirits up he had his own exhaustion to deal with and conversation, though good for morale perhaps, would only waste what energy they had left.

They ventured up any branch that had an ascending slope, and as fate or luck would have it one of these led to the surface. Zevran could smell the wash of damp forest air before they reached the opening, but waited until they were outside before he breathed a silent prayer of thanks.

"Nothing," Asleena murmured when he asked if any darkspawn were about. "But," she added with a hint of humour, "it's not like some of them can't just follow us up."

It was night, and they had emerged on the side of a sharp incline. The wall of a forested cliff rose behind them and a steep tree-clogged slope fell away in front. From the outside, the cave looked like it might have been the den of a bear once.

Forcing his legs into motion again, Zevran helped Asleena down the trail skirting the cliff, but they did not get much further before she struck her foot against something, lost her balance, and nearly pitched both of them headfirst into the ground.

"Easy," he whispered, holding her steady at the waist, but she was trembling with the effort of not crying out. When she shook her head he lowered her to the ground, pulled off a glove with his teeth and put his hand to her brow to check her temperature. It did not feel good and it was not likely to get better without someone who knew how to tend it. If he stayed with her he would have to sleep eventually, or leave to hunt down food for both of them. If they weren't attacked he might be able to carry her…somewhere…

Alone, however, he could move faster and find help more swiftly.

She saw it in his eyes, he knew. With a practiced motion and a grimace of effort, she loaded her crossbow and sat it in her lap. "Go on, Zev," she said. "I'll do my best to stay alive, I promise."

He nodded, drew his sword and handed it over, then dug several flasks from his pouch and set them down at her side. She could throw them easily enough while sitting, he thought. Unable to think of anything clever to say, he brushed his hand across her forehead again, feeling the heat and sweat against his palm, then he backed away, turned and moved down the moonlit trail at a run.

* * *

Her leg hurt and she felt hunger cramps to put the demon back near Ostwick to shame. They were all she could really think about anymore. For a little while she used it to keep her eyes open, but her vision was swimming with increasing dizziness and her thoughts felt sluggish. She felt hot but she couldn't stop shivering. The only comfort was the stillness of her blood…there was nothing tainted about.

She dozed on and off, too tired to help it and not caring anymore if this meant she was weak. Half-dreams floated across her consciousness. Sometimes they almost seemed to layer with the forest…she could almost hear voices…

Something crackled nearby and she whirled the crossbow about, eyes flying open and finger moving without volition. The quarrel flew off into the trees and, from the solid _thunk_ she heard, probably hit one of them. She hadn't exactly been aiming.

She pulled out a new bolt and reloaded. Something was out there.

The trees stood silent watch around her, a slight breeze rustling the highest leaves. She lowered her weapon after a while but tried to remain alert now. Darkspawn and blighted creatures were not the only threats to find in the wild. Wild animals, maybe. Bandits and maleficar. Elves who had no love for humans.

She wished Zevran was still here. It felt strange having been carried so far by him recently, physically and emotionally, only to look and realise he wasn't there anymore. He was probably as exhausted as she was and deserved better than running around a strange forest trying to save her life for the second time in as many days. Maybe she should be the one offering him the massage…or was that her fever talking? Her head was spinning again. What had he said to her before leaving? She couldn't recall. She remembered…

…a concerned hand on her brow…

She reached up and felt with her fingers. Strange. There was a hand there right now.

Her eyes lifted, squinting at the tall figure beside her. It swam in and out of focus, finally resolving into an unmistakable form.

"Alistair?" she whispered faintly.

Dark brown eyes gazed down upon her. "My love."


	23. Fever

Alistair was smiling. After what he'd been through, no small part thanks to Asleena, a look of affection was the last thing she'd have expected to see even if it was what she'd hopelessly wished for. His hand stroked her sweaty brow with all the tenderness she remembered of him, traced gently down the side of her face to her jaw, and a fresh wave of vertigo that had nothing to do with her fever made her vision double. She knew that touch well. Missed it…_craved _it.

It couldn't be real, her mind struggled to argue. It was a fever-dream. She groped for his hand again, pulling it away from where it had drifted to her chin and taking it into both of her own…and it was solid. Real. She had always treasured the touch of these hands, she recalled muzzily, staring at them…large, strong, calloused and battle-scarred…the first time he'd truly held her with them they'd been trembling and unsure. Every innocent touch of his fingers had conveyed a reverence bordering on open worship. "_All hands_," he had said dismally, like it was something to be ashamed of…but she had cherished every caress.

She wanted to take her gauntlets off but couldn't bring herself to let him go. Not again. Hesitantly, she lifted his palm and pressed it against her cheek. His thumb brushed across her skin in sweet response.

"My love…" she swallowed hard, unable to look up at his face again. "That's…that's all you want to say to me?"

"It's the only thing that's important."

"I thought you'd be furious," she whispered, and prodded the festering wound she knew had to be there. "You're not angry? Not even a bit?"

"You want me to rant and rave for a while?" he asked jokingly. "I could work up a good froth, you know. Or drool, if it helps. That always attracts a crowd."

"I don't want to fight…but you…" she tried to move and groaned. "Oh, Maker…"

He knelt and framed her face with both hands, turning her head to peer concernedly into her eyes. "Maker's breath, woman, what have you done to yourself?"

Asleena made a vague gesture towards her splinted leg and managed a weak chuckle. "It's a long story. Zev went to look for a healer. He…" She trailed off and winced as her brain kicked her. If she hadn't been so light-headed she might have thought twice about mentioning Zevran's presence so casually. But she had expected to navigate that particular conversation with an angry and hurt Alistair, not the man kneeling beside her now who watched her with nothing more than attentive curiosity.

Maybe she'd been wrong.

"Zev found me first," Alistair said, resting his brow against hers so that his breath tickled her face. "He pointed the way and I came ahead to make sure you'd be all right…"

* * *

Zevran followed the sound of Dalish singing until he could see firelight through the trees, then headed straight towards this new beacon with no attempt at stealth. It was faster, and any sentries posted would have less motivation to shoot an obviously elven visitor than a shadow skulking through this darkspawn-infested forest. He had no idea where he was anymore, or how he'd get back to Asleena without a guide who might recognise the geographical features of where he'd left her. After however long he'd been running, one tree looked much like another in the dark.

He was surprised to realise he recognised the tune being sung. Though he didn't know the words, he remembered it being a song invoking the protection of Mythal.

And the source of the flames turned out to be a large pyre.

No one challenged him as neared the clearing, and he paused only when he reached the trees bordering the very edge. There were several elves standing around the burning pile, all wearing some kind of facial covering as they stood vigil. The general lack of wind meant the black smoke went straight to the sky, but even so there was a familiar foul stench to the conflagration that flipped a card in Zevran's tired memory: the elves were burning darkspawn corpses.

Movement caught his eyes and a trio of armed, leather-clad elves strode into the clearing. One of them said something to her companions and they left her side, but she walked quickly around the edge to where one of the fire-watchers stood and the two started talking. Without really thinking about it, Zevran found himself picking a silent path between the trees to get close enough to listen in.

"…clan was hit hard, but it looks like many fled to other camps and survived," the woman was reporting. "We still don't know how many got away, but signs show the sharlocks took a heavy toll."

The other elf, a white-haired male, said, "Keeper Zathera?"

"Lives, as does her First."

"Some good news, at last. Continue, da'len."

"There is news from Turii's clan, but good or ill is not for me to say." The woman sounded uneasy. "I felt it best to tell you before informing Galahan, Alistair and our other guests, as it involves Turii's First and another Grey Warden."

Zevran shifted position carefully, pressing his back to the tree he'd ended up behind.

"Keeper Sindel. What has befallen her?"

"Her fate is connected to the Warden's and her flat-eared companion. All three entered the Green Dales last eve seeking to join the attack on the earthwound. Only Sindel made it back to her clan, and she is…she is ill, hahren. Her healer confided he knows no cure for her sickness."

The elder was silent. Zevran heard a rustle of clothing, then: "You should be wearing a mask near the pyre, da'len. I do you a disservice for not remembering sooner."

"What will you tell her betrothed?"

"I don't know. I will have to think on that for a time. What of the Keeper's two companions?"

"Presumed dead. They were all in the earthwound, hahren, alive, such are Sindel's words according to he I spoke with. If accurate…Alistair may have inadvertently helped to drown one, possibly two of his friends."

The elder sighed heavily. "Leave that to me. Tell me of the other clans."

"Keeper Athandis' clan held, and Keeper Damalian's, but one of her people panicked during a sharlock strike and summoned a spirit from Beyond, which killed her and several others before…"

Their voices faded into the ambient noise of pyre and singing as Zevran crept away. Once a safe distance into the trees he stopped, took a few long breaths and tried to decide what to do. Alistair was here. Somewhere. Should he be alerted to Asleena's presence or not? It would end her search, for good or ill, and seal the path of Zevran's future.

_No. It is not the time. She…she is fevered and injured and in no condition to deal with his tantrums. I have already taken too long finding help._

Shutting his mind to everything else, he stalked quickly away from the clearing and followed the adjoining trails to another open area, where a pair of aravels stood and halla slept standing. From here he quickly spotted the healer's corner, dominated by a number of wood-framed beds and a table strewn with jars and herbs. Zevran stepped into clear view, walked straight past two Dalish who didn't even give him a glance, and approached an elderly elf measuring liquids into a flask.

"Aneth ara," Zevran tried, using one of the few phrases of his mother's tongue that he actually remembered.

The healer looked up, squinted his grey eyes and pointed a long finger at a basin of water. "You would do well to clean that blood off your face, da'len. One moment and I will see to your injuries." Picking up the poultice he'd just prepared and a wad of bandages, he went off towards the beds.

Zevran began to follow, his mouth opening to say something that might hurry the healer's return, but froze. There was a human man sitting on one of the beds, shirtless and with bandages wrapping his chest.

_Alistair._

Moving casually, Zevran went over to the water basin, picked up the wash cloth and turned his back. The former Grey Warden had not been looking in his direction, staring instead into the darkened forest.

"Anything?" he heard the healer ask.

"No, it's safe. I _said_ I'd let everyone know if darkspawn were coming, Valar. I even offered to make bird noises."

"So I heard. Yumi was most entertained by your attempts to imitate an owl."

"It was a _Ferelden_ owl, they sound different down there. All right, stop looking at me like that. What's it to be tonight?"

"A dressing change. You can do it yourself, but here's the poultice and fresh bandages."

"I won't need to do this again, will I?"

"It should be fully healed by morning…if you stop scratching it. If not, I'll mix you another jar before you leave."

"Thanks. Now this is over with I want to get moving again."

"Away from the darkspawn, you mean?"

"I'm not a Grey Warden anymore, Valar. I'm here because the Dalish needed help, not because of what I used to be."

"And we will continue to be in your debt, but don't you think these nightmares and day-visions of yours are—"

"—trying to tell me something?" Alistair interrupted. "Like I left the kettle on the fire? Or my socks need mending? How about…like I'm not running away fast enough?"

"Your skills are much needed, lethallin. You achieved a lot here."

"Look, I appreciate the offer, but it's still 'no'. I think it's pretty obvious if I start seeing and hearing_…_things…in the middle of _battle_ that I'm not cut out for this anymore. I almost got everyone killed!"

"Have you told Galahan what happened yet?"

"He knows everything…including what I had for breakfast this morning. Too smart for his own good, if you ask me."

"Hrm. Well, as I've another patient, I'll leave you to it. There's a draught over there if you have trouble sleeping."

"I always have trouble sleeping. Thank you. I guess it'll be back to ale and wine when I return to human civilization. I don't suppose--"

"No, lethallin. Not even if you chose to stay. It would do you more harm than good over time."

"Just like alcohol, then. But with less singing. Good night, Valar."

Zevran remained standing with his back turned and waited, keeping his mind carefully blank until the healer reached him.

"Much better," Valar said, looking at Zevran's clean face. He peered more closely, lifted a brow and tapped his left cheekbone, meeting the assassin's eyes. "Not from around here by the looks of those fancy marks…"

"I have a companion with a broken leg alone in the forest," Zevran said, keeping his voice down. He wanted to be away from this place as quickly as possible, and back with Asleena even faster than that. "She is fevered and weak. I am here for her sake."

"Another mercy mission, is it? Were you attacked by darkspawn?"

"Yesterday, yes, by Shrieks. We have been wandering lost since that time."

The healer shook his head, selected a number of items from the table and dropped them into a bag, save a small green vial. "Drink this before you fall over, then come with me."

Zevran swallowed the syrupy concoction and followed Valar away from the medical beds, being careful not to look back or examine his motivations too closely.

* * *

"I owe him, then," Asleena whispered. "More than I'll ever be able to repay."

"We'll think of something," Alistair assured her. "I owe him too, after all. Who'd have thought?"

His lips were only a breath away from hers now, his voice gone soft and deep. "I also came ahead to…apologise, you know. If you'll allow me to, that is…"

Her mind was still feverishly clamouring that something was amiss, but his nearness and his touch and the look in his eyes set her senses on fire and her pain-hazed thoughts spinning.

When his mouth closed possessively on hers and his tongue teased her lips apart, even those chaotic sparks of sense blew away.


	24. What Could Be

_Author's note: Congratulations to the very clever cookies who figured things out in advance. ;)_

_

* * *

_

The restorative potion Valar had provided took a while to have an effect, but when it did it hit Zevran's empty stomach like a glass of potent wine. He stumbled on the trail and put a hand to his spinning head, muttering an oath.

"How long has it been since you last ate?" Valar asked from behind him, while the three Dalish hunters in front looked back at what the trouble was.

"Long enough," Zevran muttered, accepting a flat loaf of bread someone passed him and giving them a nod of thanks.

"And your companion is in similar straits?"

"Worse." The assassin tore off a piece of the bread and ate it, saying no more. If he mentioned anything about Asleena being a Grey Warden there would be questions asked, connections made, maybe even suggestions raised that Alistair be informed.

He wanted to avoid that. He wanted…to keep her all to himself for a selfish while longer.

Zevran pressed both hands to his temples and scowled. "What was in that vile potion of yours?"

"A number of things which have names that would be meaningless to you, I'm sure," Valar said. "Eat, da'len. The scouts will return soon."

Zevran concentrated on chewing the heavy trail bread while they waited. It was thick and flavourful enough, but his mouth was watering so much it may well have been fresh from the oven and smothered with melted butter. He realised he hadn't eaten properly since noon the day before, hours prior to entering the Green Dales.

Valar had commandeered the assistance of five other elves and informed his Keeper of what was transpiring before they'd all headed into the forest, him, Zevran and the five hunters. Zevran had done his best to describe the location of where he'd left Asleena, speaking of the straight narrow trail and the cave, and the Dalish were able to find the way back from there. No resistance had been encountered during the journey, but once they found the base of the ridge Zevran had mentioned, two of the hunters went to scout ahead.

They returned now.

"The path is not safe," one reported in a low voice, "There is a spirit ahead…feeding off a shem."

"Then we will have to—"

Zevran ducked past them and sped up the trail, daggers flying into both hands along the way. He ignored the hoarsely quiet shouts behind him, but was aware that the elves followed. His heart pounded but a familiar chill suffused his blood and cleared his head faster than any drug could.

_She cannot be dead._

And then, up ahead, two figures were standing in the middle of the path and close together. Zevran slowed to a cautious walk then stopped, paying no attention to the angry whispers of the Dalish. The first figure was undoubtedly Asleena. Her back was to them and she was on her feet and in her armour, though sword, shield, dagger and crossbow were all discarded on the ground near the flasks Zevran had left. Facing the Grey Warden, and the elves by extension, was a demon. However it looked to Asleena and the Dalish, to Zevran's eyes it was an obviously female form, desirably curvaceous, and barely clothed. A pair of massive horns grew from its brow.

Zevran rubbed the spot on his neck where the bites the Hunger Demon had given him still left a vague imprint in his flesh. When the Dalish had said Asleena was being _fed _off, he'd feared…

"_That_ is your friend?" one of the elves demanded, grabbing Zevran's shoulder. "You didn't say it was a human!"

"We should kill them both and be done with it," another muttered.

"Now, now," Valar said mildly. "In case you have forgotten, children, we have a shemlen back at camp who fought alongside our kin against the darkspawn."

"We have to kill the spirit," a third elf pointed out. "But if we try, it will use this shem to protect itself. It can make her see whatever it wants, right?"

"That is possible, yes. Desire demons…can be difficult."

Zevran returned his weapons to their sheaths. He'd seen a desire demon or two while in Ferelden, and come to think of them as the Fade's masters of seduction. He'd never gone toe to toe with one before. This might just be an interesting challenge.

"You are the best one to try and pull your friend from its thrall," Valar was saying. "You know her better than we do and have an idea of what the demon might tempt her with."

"How is she standing?" Zevran asked, ignoring that last bit. "Her leg is broken."

"Such spirits are masterful at weaving illusions. I'd say your friend can't feel the pain her body is in right now, any more than she can feel her energies being drained. Be careful," Valar added when Zevran began to move forwards. "Don't trust it. You are as much food to it as she is."

Zevran approached Asleena and the demon alone, keeping his empty hands clearly visible. The murmur of their conversation became more audible as he drew near, and he stopped several paces away when the demon's dark eyes fixed on his and a cat-smile curved its lips.

"I heard something," Asleena said in a distant manner, though she did not turn around to look.

"I'll check it out," the demon replied. Its voice was throaty and feminine to Zevran, but somehow his ears could pick up at least two other levels overlaying this: one a strange and inhuman tone, the other an inflection that could only be identified as Alistair's. "It might be darkspawn."

"I can't sense…"

"Of course you can't, you're sick," the demon said. "I bet you can't sense _me_ even when I do this." And, still watching Zevran, the creature wrapped a clawed hand around Asleena's waist, pulled her closer so that their hips met and kissed her deeply.

Zevran watched with a raised brow and some degree of interest. It was hard _not _to be interested when two very attractive and very dangerous women were locking lips a short distance away.

"Room for one more?" he asked dryly. "I never get invited to these parties. It makes me sad."

One of the hands resting upon Asleena's hips lifted and beckoned with a talon-tipped finger. When the assassin had come within arm's length, the demon broke its kiss and said, "Zev's back. Look."

Asleena turned and saw him. Her sudden smile was radiant and joyous, and she threw her arms around the startled assassin's neck with a happy cry. "Zev! You found him, I can't believe it!" Her enthusiastic embrace tightened, becoming warmer. "Thank you. I…don't know how else to say it." She pulled back suddenly and knuckled her eyes, but was still smiling. "You'll come back to Ferelden with us, won't you? Please?"

"You two made up remarkably quickly," Zevran noted with a cheerfulness he didn't feel. "I thought he didn't want to go back to Ferelden."

"What can I say?" the demon replied. "Her desire is my command. How about it, Zev? Just the three of us for a while? Could be fun."

It was the sort of thing Alistair _might_ say, but the demon's underlying invitation brought on a whole new meaning to the words. They could go…anywhere. They could go _nowhere _and the demon had the power to make it seem otherwise. And sooner or later, Zevran would get…

"…whatever your heart desires," the demon purred, watching him avidly. "Pleasure. Freedom from your past. Vengeance against your enemies." It stepped up behind Asleena and twined both hands around her waist. "The heart of a certain mortal woman…all to yourself. A new life."

"And _you_ would get a second course, yes?" Zevran gave his head a little shake and frowned. "You offer me illusions. They are not as tempting as you might think."

"_She _is no illusion," the demon said, running a hand up over Asleena's breastplate. Removing its hold on her, it gave the Warden a light push and Asleena stepped towards Zevran again. This time when she looked into his eyes, her smile was hesitant, almost shy, and more alluring than he'd ever seen from her. There was no trace of fever in her face, and the darkspawn blood that had streaked her skin was suddenly gone. She looked healthy, clean, gorgeous, and completely enthralled by him.

She reached up and touched the tattooed side of his face, trailing her fingers slowly down the sinuous marks. Zevran kept completely still, but his heart started to race. The previous thought of this being some kind of 'challenge' suddenly seemed a very foolish and prideful one.

"She could be yours whenever you wished. I require…little in return. You need never see me in fact."

"Not even when you drain us completely?" Zevran asked, doing what he could to maintain his self-control. Asleena's hand had slid up the line of his jaw to one pointed ear, and she was tracing the shape of it with a look of fully-absorbed fascination. She'd probably never touched an elf's ears before…

"Mortals do not understand us as well as they think. Your passions and energies would sustain me, yes…and in return I would see your desires fulfilled. A mutually beneficial arrangement for all concerned. Your kind perish and waste away in the end, but I can ensure you would both die happily, content and blissful. I could create a whole life for the two of you, free of suffering, _full_ of sensation…"

Zevran grabbed one of Asleena's wrists as she went for his belt buckle of all places, then shot a furious glare at the demon. "You can see what I desire, and you think I want _this_?" He tried to regain control of himself and his voice, a feat more difficult than he'd expected it to be. "I am…disappointed. I thought more highly of the Fade's marvellous desire demons."

The demon's chuckle was low and throaty. "I know what you desire better than you do. Mortals waste so much strength denying themselves what they want. We allow them to have everything, free of all consequence."

Zevran looked back at Asleena, who shifted her gaze from his eyes to his lips. "Does she want me?" The question was asked before he could stop himself.

"Do you think she has never dreamed of being in your arms? Never wondered what it would be like to have your lips on her breasts, your hands running down her skin, her legs around your hips…"

Zevran felt his loins stirring against his will and forced himself to step backwards, but somehow forgot to release Asleena's wrist. She came with him and put a finger to his lips, a small frown of concern knotting her brow.

"Shh. I want this," she breathed.

"No you don't, _amore_," he said softly, pulling her hand away. "And neither do I."

He struck her hard across the face. She staggered backwards and fell, crying out with pain as her right leg buckled beneath her. The blood, dirt and sweat was suddenly on her face and armour again, and he didn't stop to ask if she had broken free of the glamour but lunged for the sword lying in the dirt.

He almost reached it before the demon did.

The point tickled his throat.

Zevran grimaced, hand still outstretched, but his eyes fell on the flasks of acid and soulrot nearby.

"How could…how could you _do _that? To _her_?!" the demon said, the echoes of Alistair's anger overlaying its own taunting voice. "We trusted you! _She _trusted you!"

"Asleena," Zevran said, half-crouched and eyes fixated on the glass bottles. "My dear, this isn't him. It is a desire demon."

"I don't look anything _like _a desire demon! They're all…purple skin and horns and…and femaleish!"

"Yes," the assassin agreed, moving his hand with agonising slowness. "That's _exactly_ what they look like. You have his vocabulary down perfectly, I see. Congratulations."

Asleena's voice came from somewhere near the ground, shaking slightly. "I can't believe you hit me…"

"This isn't who you think it is," Zevran repeated levelly. "Think, my dear. I know you are tired, but—"

The sword point nicked his skin. "That's enough, I think," the demon said. "Do you know what the beauty of this is, mortal? _Perception_. She will see what she desires to see. I can kill you…but if she doesn't want you to die, she will never know it happened. In her mind you will walk and talk and eat and mate just like you always—"

Zevran grabbed, rolled backwards and threw the acid flask full at its face. "Change her perception of _that!_" he shouted as it shattered.

The demon shrieked, dropping the sword to claw at its eyes. Asleena screamed too. She staggered upright, interposed her body between the demon and Zevran and picked up the loaded crossbow, but the point of the bolt weaved uncertainly as the Dalish ran up the path to flank Zevran.

"I think we waited long enough," one of the elves said grimly, pulling an arrow from his quiver.

"Darkspawn," the demon snarled, glaring at them.

* * *

Asleena shook her head but the fog refused to lift. She could see the Shrieks, seven of them, but none were trying to hide and none were attacking. Zevran had vanished completely.

"No, they're…not darkspawn. I can't sense…" She tried to grip the crossbow more firmly. "Zev!" she shouted, even though her face burned where he'd struck her, even though he'd attacked Alistair. "We need help!"

He couldn't have left. Not just like that. What had she done? What had _happened_? Nothing was making sense! One moment everything had been gloriously perfect…

"It is a demon, Asleena!" Zevran's voice called from amongst the sharlocks. "None of this is what it looks like." One of them shambled towards her, its gangling arms hanging at its sides. She kept her weapon trained on it but it made no attempt to deviate and stopped right in front of her, the bolt on a direct line with its chest. "See?" it said. "Here I am."

She looked back at Alistair and frowned. He should have been a bleeding and scarred wreck after being hit by that acid. His face should have been ruined. But it was still impossibly handsome and unscathed.

"It's what you want," he said, coming towards her with his arms outstretched. "Would you rather I be disfigured?"

His face blurred and she averted her eyes. "No. Damn." Her hands shook. She clenched them tighter around the stock. "_Damn._" The crossbow came up and pointed straight at Alistair's head. "Sodding Fade _bitch_!"

"And she's back," Zevran's voice said. The sharlock grinned hideously. "I knew you'd come around. Can we get to the killing part now?"

"You should have hit me harder—" Asleena roared and dropped to one knee as the demon removed whatever power it had employed to shield the pain in her leg. Her finger pulled the trigger and a bolt thudded into Alistair's chest. The quarrel was joined by a number of arrows, and the demon couldn't avoid all of them. Its shouts of pain were in Alistair's voice, its calls to her for help and its battle-cries when the Zevran-Shriek jumped it were Alistair's words.

When it fell a few minutes later, a bolt between its eyes and Zevran's daggers in its heart, it was Alistair's eyes that stared blankly at the night sky.

* * *

"How much will she remember?" Zevran asked Valar some time later.

A small camp had been set up right there on the trail. Four of the Dalish had been injured during the fight and tended to, but were not so badly off they couldn't keep watch. Three of them had even ventured further to see the cave Zevran had said led to darkspawn tunnels and done something to collapse it.

Asleena alone slept, her leg having been tended to after Valar had made her eat something and drink a number of his potions. Her broken bone wasn't mended for he possessed no magical skills, but he'd assured Zevran the fever would be reduced or gone by morning. Much of the strain had gone from her face now, though the shadow of a bruise was beginning to blossom across one cheek.

"It's always hard to say with spirits from Beyond," the healer said, lashing two stout pieces of wood together with some rope. "She was not physically possessed, so she may well recall everything. On the other hand she was fevered, so…" And here he shrugged eloquently. "The mind is a curious thing. Even when our people were immortal I doubt they understood everything there was to know about it.

"You would do well to get some sleep…Zev, was it?"

"Zevran." He looked at the sleeping Grey Warden and decided Valar might have earned it all in one night. "But yes, Zev to my friends."

"Well, Zev," Valar said, "tomorrow morning I suggest we head for Damalian's clan, which is not too far. They have a healer skilled in magic who can fix Asleena's leg properly."

"They'll no doubt want to hear about this demon, also," one of the hunters threw over her shoulder. "I heard right before we left that a spirit got loose from them during the battle last night."

Valar made a 'hrm' noise as he picked up another piece of wood, examining it critically, and Zevran, now past the worrying thought that they might have been going straight back to Valar's camp where the real Alistair was, lay down atop the blanket-wrapped bundle of Duncan's shield with its tell-tale Grey Warden emblem and tried to relax.

Whatever morning brought, he would have to make the best of it.


	25. Secrets and Revelations

_Author's Note: My apologies for the delay, as I've been a little tired this week. ~.~ Hope everyone's still enjoying the ride. We're drawing into what I'd call the final leg of the story, so not too far to go from here (unless I get an idea and sidetrack, of course XD). Stay tuned, and thanks for all the wonderful encouragement and kind words._

* * *

The smell of something delicious cooking, the sounds of murmuring voices, a crackling fire, a bubbling pot and her own growling stomach all brought Asleena awake, but when she opened her eyes the first thing she saw was Zevran.

The blond elf lay barely an arm's length away, his face turned towards hers as he slept. She didn't think she'd ever seen the assassin asleep before now. Unconscious a few times, yes, but not asleep; he had a way of waking up as soon as anyone so much as scratched at the flap of his tent. He looked…peaceful. The morning sunlight through the trees dappled shifting patterns across the upturned tattooed side of his face. It glinted against a long tendril of hair that hung loose across his closed eyes. There was still blood and dirt on him, token reminders of how rough the last day and a half had been. The fact he was more dirty and dishevelled than she'd ever seen him was mute testimony to how hard he'd striven on her behalf recently…

Almost without conscious volition she reached out to brush the stray lock of hair away, and several things happened at once.

Zevran seized her wrist. A split second later his other hand emerged from beneath whatever he was using as a pillow, the dagger in his fist slicing towards her neck. Asleena reacted without thought and grabbed his forearm, wrenched her other hand free of his grasp and yanked hard, flipping him completely over and twisting his arm behind him. She finished up atop him with one knee pressed to the small of his back and her other leg aching in protest.

There was a muffled groan from somewhere beneath her.

"What a marvellous way to wake up," Zevran managed in a strained voice.

"Oh, Maker!" Asleena released his arm and hurriedly got off him. "Zev, I'm sorry, I—"

"—saw a weapon coming towards your throat and quite rightly took action," the assassin finished, flashing her a smile from his prone position. He propped himself up with one arm and gestured disparagingly with the dagger. "Survival instincts die hard, I fear, though I must say it may have been worth the trouble if it meant ending up being straddled by a ravishing woman such as yourself."

Someone cleared his throat pointedly. "Er…if you two are awake…"

Six Dalish were watching the pair with varying levels of alarm or curiosity, two with weapons drawn. Zevran rolled onto his back and sat up while Asleena settled carefully into her blankets, trying not to wince at the pain her movements had cost her.

She recognised the speaker's voice, but not his face. "You're Valar?" she asked.

"I take it I look like an elf and not a Shriek this morning, Asleena?" he replied, smiling kindly as he held out two wooden bowls that steamed.

"…so it wasn't just an incredibly humiliating dream. Sod."

"Eat now, talk later," Valar ordered. "You were burning up all the resources in your body when we got to you last night. Between that and your leg it's a wonder you managed to stay conscious."

"They are taking us to a nearby clan when we get moving," Zevran said. "The healer there will see you back on both feet."

Asleena started to thank them, but at a stern glance from Valar decided to eat instead. It took a certain amount of effort not to shovel the hot porridge into her mouth as fast as she could. She was famished, but not wanting to disgrace herself in front of her hosts she fell back on the strict eating etiquette that had been instilled as a noble's daughter and paced herself. It took four whole bowls before she started to feel full, but no one commented, even though Zevran had stopped after two.

"Now drink this," Valar said, swirling a earthenware cup of fire-warmed liquid and herbs, and she did what she was told. The texture of the liquid tasted oddly familiar, its flavour sweetened but not unpleasantly so.

"Milk?" she guessed after a couple of cautious preliminary sips.

"Halla milk, shemlen." The healer waited until she'd finished and set the cup aside then held out a wooden crutch with leather padding wrapped around the underarm support. "Here is something to help you walk. It won't be too comfortable, sadly, but it need only get you to where we're going. Try standing and tell me how your head feels."

Zevran was up instantly and offering her a hand, but Asleena found herself hesitating to take it as uncomfortable memories from the previous night rushed back. Her apparent reluctance provoked a flicker of…something…in her companion's golden-brown eyes. Disappointment. Maybe even a spark of fear. It was rarely easy to read him.

_Ridiculous…I had my arm around his shoulder and his arm around my waist for almost all of yesterday, and now I don't trust to take his hand?_

She felt guilty, then angry that she felt guilty. After everything he'd done recently he deserved better. The issue wasn't that she didn't trust him, for he'd done nothing wrong, it was just that she'd…well, she'd practically thrown herself at him…and…he hadn't taken advantage of it, but he'd _seen_. He'd witnessed something of her she'd have rather kept hidden and she felt exposed as a consequence of that.

Had she ever desired to be in the arms of Zevran Arainai? Yes...she had. He was handsome, capable, charming when he wanted to be, clever, fun to be around, he had those eyes of his, and whatever dark things were in his past he'd been _here_ for her constantly. But there were plenty of things in life she'd _wanted_ or dreamed of, whether as passing whims or so deeply her blood had boiled with the strength of her need. That didn't mean those desires weren't sometimes wrong, inappropriate, hurtful or just plain stupid. Some things you just didn't act on, let alone mention. It was like…she'd told Zev only a few days ago she found his tattoo attractive, but hadn't gone so far as to let him know she'd always had a fancy to touch it to see if the curved markings felt any different to unblemished skin.

Maybe he'd shrug it all off as desire demon trickery and not believe any of that had truly been her? Maker, she really hoped so…

She reached up just as Zevran began to withdraw his hand and grabbed his wrist. He said nothing but helped her balance on one foot while she got the crutch in order, after which he bent to collect and pack away the few things they'd brought with them. He wasn't obliged to pick up her armour as she was still wearing it, but she didn't question him when Duncan's shield went into a backpack—she wasn't in much of a position to use it, after all. She'd have to make do with the darkspawn crossbow if trouble came looking for them. She'd probably never see Starfang again.

"Any dizziness?" Valar asked her. "Nausea?"

Asleena rallied and shook her head. "No…not even a bit. Whatever you gave me did the trick."

"What all healers love to hear," he replied with a chuckle. "Shall we be off then? Let us clean this place up and get you to some expert care."

The Dalish made quick work of the camp and then led the way up the leafy trail, heading towards the cave and past it. Zevran walked beside Asleena. At first she thought he was going to make the trip in silence, but he finally said, "Might I ask what happened last night? Rather, what you remember?"

"Besides sucking on the face of a demon, you mean?" Asleena muttered, not trying to hide her flush of humiliation.

Zevran waved a hand. "Oh, _that_? That's not so bad. Truthfully, I'm a little envious. _I _got the demon that wanted to suck my blood. _You _got the demon that would have been willing to suck—"

"_Zevran!"_

He grinned impudently. "Ah, there we are. You were looking entirely too serious, my dear. Whatever happened cannot be that bad, can it? You were, after all, fully clothed when we found you."

"Thank the Maker."

"So?"

"So. A lot of lies. Wishful thinking and stupid dreams." She dug the butt of her crutch savagely into the fallen leaves as they walked. "If think a part of me knew none of it was real, but I fell for it and was…happy to fall, in the end. No accusations, no arguments, just acceptance and going back to how it used to be. Then you showed up."

"Should I not have?" Zevran asked carefully.

"No, no…I was happy to see you! I thought we'd all find Ferrix and go back home together. I'd take you both to Highever and show off my old stomping grounds and…I don't know. Just enjoy life, I guess."

"So you _do _wish for me to accompany you back to Ferelden?"

"Why wouldn't I?" She smiled a little. "You think that however this ends I'd want you to go away? You're my friend. I'd love to show you where I grew up." She hesitated. "I actually said I wanted you to come back to Ferelden? What else did I say?"

Something in his posture suggested he relaxed a little at that, though she had no idea why this would be so. "Do you not recall?"

"I…no, actually. A word here or there, but mostly it's impressions and embarrassing emotions. I remember what I saw, how I felt and how I acted more vividly." She scowled then, and decided to get it over with. "I tried to jump you, didn't I?"

"The things you did to try and seduce me," Zevran said, grinning once more. "Ah, but my fair lady, I have always preferred to have my victims…willing."

"This isn't going to change anything between us, is it?" she asked awkwardly.

"Why should it? You were not in control of yourself and I never forgot that. If anything changes then it is entirely your choice of how that is. My desires remain even as they were."

As they continued on with the Dalish in companionable silence, she wondered about that last claim. She'd have to be blind and stupid to not recognise Zevran cared about her welfare, but it had come to the point that she felt his attention went beyond what she'd expect of him as a 'mere' close friend.

"What does '_amore_' mean?" she asked suddenly. "Is it elvish?"

He couldn't lie about that, not with a group of elves surrounding them. To his credit, the query didn't make him look surprised or put a foot out of step. "It is Antivan. Where did you hear that?"

"Just something I thought I remembered you saying last night."

"_Amore…_" Zevran lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "'My friend'...and now I am intrigued. Was I reciting poetry, perchance?"

"If I remember any more of it, I'll ask you for the translation," she replied wryly, and he seemed satisfied that he'd gotten away with the deception.

Asleena well knew what the endearment truly meant. She had never mentioned to any of her friends that her brother's late wife hailed from Antiva.

* * *

When they reached the Dalish camp less than an hour later, Valar led Asleena to the clan's Spirit Healer, went to speak with its Keeper about the demon, then took his leave. Zevran saw the old elf and his armed escort off, thanking them for their aid.

"No thanks are required, lethallin," Valar said, "but please be more careful in the future. Dareth shirel."

While Asleena was being healed Zevran wandered aimlessly through the camp. A large number of the elves were recovering from injuries, and in one area several fresh earthen mounds rose above the natural level of the ground. In the manner of the Dalish, a sapling had been planted atop each grave. There were eleven. Two were much smaller than the rest.

They would have to return to the earthwound to look for Ferrix, Zevran thought as he gazed at the verdant mortuary, and she would insist upon seeing Sindel if he brought up the fact the elven Keeper lived. That would give Alistair a head start…

_I should have told him and ended this. It has gone too far. 'Amore'? What possessed me to say that?_

Had the demon still been alive he'd have cheerfully gutted it a second time. How dare it try to toy with him, and use _her _to do it?

Muttering something unpleasant, he stalked back to the main area of the camp in time to see Asleena crouching down to strap a dragonbone greave to her healed leg. She stood and said something to the healer, a middle-aged but still attractive woman with braided blonde hair, and Zevran smoothed his features before going over to them.

"You are a half day's walk from the earthwound," the healer was advising, "and that's if you know where you're going, strangers. Keeper Damalian may provide a guide, but there has been great sorrow here recently. The thought of trusting two she doesn't know with the life of one of our own…"

"Would telling your Keeper I'm a Grey Warden help at all?" Asleena asked, throwing a grin at Zevran. No doubt she expected him to be amused that she was following his advice of playing that card whenever she could, so he smiled, but unconsciously held his breath at the same time.

"It might," the elf replied, her brown eyes narrowing. "If it's true. I heard there were two Wardens in the Green Dales, one of them a shem woman with an elf and a great hound as companions."

"My mabari warhound," Asleena explained. "He got separated from us near the earthwound the night before last."

"I also heard you were accompanied by Keeper Sindel. You were thought to be dead, Warden."

"As you can see, she is very much alive," Zevran said when Asleena fell silent. "As am I, and, I hope, the mabari. _I _had heard Keeper Sindel also lived."

Asleena blinked at him and the healer tilted her head inquisitively. "That was true yesterday."

"She was badly wounded?" Asleena asked quickly. "What's wrong?"

"She is blight-fevered. Worse than death, wouldn't you say?"

Asleena took a slow breath and released it. "Maybe there's a way to—"

"There isn't," the healer said in a flat tone. She made a motion to some distant sickbeds. "Unless the mighty Grey Wardens know some miracle cure we mere mortals do not? If so, I would love to hear it."

"Be very careful of whom you accuse for this sickness, my lovely elf," Zevran advised with a pleasant smile.

"If her order had gotten here sooner," came the angry retort, "this might have been avoided! Two. They sent us _two_. We have a right to blame them, and humans as well. Before they came to our lands we never _knew_ sickness." She looked at Asleena coldly. "Leave now. Your leg is mended and we are done."

Asleena watched the healer stride towards the blight-infected area and Zevran noticed her close her eyes, a frown creasing her brow.

"It feels different to darkspawn," she murmured. "Different to Grey Wardens, too. It's weaker…but it's there." Her eyes opened again, and there was pity in them. "I wonder if Andraste's Ashes could cure them."

"Her temple is a little too far away to test that theory, Asleena."

"I know. I just…wish it were possible to try." She turned away, her face hardening. "Let's see if we can get that guide and look for Ferrix, then pay Sindel a visit."

"Might I suggest getting a replacement sword also? And then what do you intend?"

She glanced at him, a corner of her mouth curving up. "And then, unless you somehow know where Alistair is, we ride on to Starkhaven."


	26. Return to the Deadfall

_Author's Note: For those who asked (or don't know) 'amore' is Italian for 'beloved', 'my love', etc. If you're romancing Zevran he sometimes uses this word when you select him as the active party member, saying 'Si, amore?' (Yes, my love?)._

* * *

"Here. This is the place."

It looked different in daylight, but there was no mistaking the twisted remains of the fallen tree that jutted out over the earthwound. Asleena had not exactly gotten a good look at it from her more _intimate_ point of view, but Zevran would never forget what it looked like. In the light of the sun its bark was an unwholesome greenish-yellow hue. What leaves it still possessed were all dead, shrivelled and splotched with black.

The darkspawn corpses were still lying where they had fallen, and the blighted earth was splattered quite liberally with blood. The hulking body of the ogre was there too, and Zevran permitted himself a grin and a feeling of professional pride at the sight of a job well done. Things had been moving too quickly to indulge in satisfaction or enjoyment when this fight had taken place, but now he could look back and indulge.

"If you pat yourself on the back any more, Zevran Arainai," Asleena remarked from nearby, "you're going to wrench your arm."

"I doubt that, my Grey Warden," Zevran riposted with a chuckle. "We assassin types are quite limber. If only we were in a location more suitable for a full demonstration."

She rolled her eyes and looked at the two Dalish guides Keeper Damalian had sent with them. "Zev and I will look for my warhound," she told them. "You'd better stay here. He doesn't know you, so if he's hurt or sick…well, I don't want him to injure either of you."

"We can gather the corpses and burn them, Warden," one of the elves offered. "It will be better than leaving them to rot into the soil and further damage the Green Dales."

Asleena nodded. "I can sense if any living darkspawn get near our position, so don't worry about them unless you hear me shout a warning. You'll have to rely on yourselves for any of the forest's natural threats, however. Yell if you need us."

She turned to Zevran. "I suppose I should start with the basics," she said, pulling off a gauntlet. Lifting two fingers to her lips, she faced the forest and produced a piercing whistle. "_Ferrix!_" she yelled.

They waited, but no barking, howling or otherwise returned.

"Unconscious or asleep, then," Asleena said, and it did not go unnoticed to the assassin that she omitted the option of 'dead'. "Zev, you keep going up along the earthwound for a bit," Asleena said, her voice even and her face bearing that if-I-keep-moving-and-don't-think-it-will-be-easier look. "Maybe he got to the edge and lay down to wait or something. I'll see if I can retrace our steps into the trees. Catch up in half an hour."

Zevran nodded. "Good luck."

They parted ways and began searching. It was midafternoon, leaving at least four hours of daylight to find some trace of the missing mabari. After that it would become too dark to continue, and even with torches it would be hard to find Ferrix amidst the undergrowth unless he gave some signal or they literally tripped over his body. Zevran had to admit the chances were not good if Ferrix had not responded to Asleena's call. The mabari was imprinted to her, and the number of reasons why he would not come when called or at least call back were few.

He followed the edge of the ravine as he had been asked, hearing the occasional call of Ferrix's name from the forest, but he kept silent and watchful. He paused once to inch cautiously to the very lip of the chasm and peer down, and was rewarded with the sight of a thin ribbon of glittering water far below. For some reason it didn't look as deep as he'd imagined it to be when falling backwards into the darkness. Would the mabari have jumped as well if he'd been able? The animals were highly intelligent, even if they were dogs, but even the most clever of individuals could willingly seek their own deaths after the loss of someone dear to them. Zevran knew this only too well.

He lay down flat on the ground and wriggled closer to the rim, sticking his head over to scan the inner edge of the chasm, but while there were a few stone ledges here and there he saw nothing of Ferrix and no clear way the mabari might have tried to descend without simply leaping into the void.

Getting up, he brushed dirt from his armour and kept walking. After several minutes of nothing but dead grass and withered plants, he found a small patch of dried blood and a puff of feathers. Many were small, pale and downy things, but there were four larger ones, solid black shading into a lustrous chocolate brown. Zevran picked these big ones up and ran two fingers along the curvature of the longest, smoothing the barbs back into place.

_This was where Sindel landed_.

He tucked the feathers away and looked around more attentively. There was no blood leading away from the initial site. She had probably changed form and healed herself, then headed south to rejoin her clan.

Realising this was getting him no closer to finding Ferrix, he kept going west for a while longer until it was obvious he would find nothing. He stopped and cocked his head, listening. Asleena had not given up calling the warhound's name.

Zevran sighed to himself.

There were few lives he'd mourned the passing of, and he had shed tears for no one, not even Rinna. Ferrix had been a fine companion, even a halfway decent conversationalist, but in the end he was still a dog. A dog who had always been happy to see him, gone through his backpack a few times and left drool on his possessions, stolen his dinner once when he'd left it unattended and somehow contrived to make Alistair look the guilty party…then there was Fort Drakon of course…

"Good times," he murmured, ignoring the tightness in his throat.

Hearing Asleena yell the mabari's name again, he wondered how long it would take before she finally lost hope and called off the hunt.

* * *

There were a lot of dark shapes in the forest. It was surprising how many there were when you looked. Clumps of foliage. Dead wood. Darkspawn bodies. Asleena was finding it hard to know whether or not she should feel relieved when each inert form she checked turned out to not be her dog.

She wiped sweat and dirt from her brow, then called for Ferrix again. Her dar'missan, the elven equivalent of a longsword, lashed out to hack a clear path towards another likely-looking lump some distance away.

_Paws…fur…blood…_

The bottom seemed to fall out of her stomach as she struggled closer, slashing plant-life out of her way. Breath choked in her throat.

_No…no no no…_

She stumbled past the last obstacle, got a clear look, and almost sobbed in relief. She'd never been happier to see a dead blight wolf in her life.

_Thank the Maker…_

After taking a moment to calm down she nudged the twisted corpse with her foot, looking for wounds. She hadn't remembered seeing any blighted animals during the fight, and this one hadn't been killed by blades or arrows. It had been mauled to death by another animal.

"Asleena?" Zevran's voice called.

"Over here!"

The assassin reached her quickly and appraised the dead wolf. "Ferrix's work?" he suggested hopefully.

Asleena frowned, sheathed her sword and knelt to prise open the creature's jaws. Rigor mortis had set in long ago, but the stiffened muscles gave way to brute force in the end. She bent her head to examine the inside of its mouth and stuck a bare finger inside, probing for puncture wounds.

"What are you doing?"

"Ferrix's collar is spiked," Asleena said. "It's not really much protection against a sword or axe, but it is very effective at injuring hands…as well as other animals who try to go for the throat." Her finger found a spot and she rubbed it, looking up at the Antivan. "As this wolf found out."

"That doesn't mean he is alive."

Asleena stood, wiping her hand off. "I know," she said quietly. "Maybe Sindel found him though. If she escaped--"

"I fear the Keeper was in no condition to go looking," Zevran said, pulling a long feather from his belt and twirling it between his fingers before holding it out. "I saw her hawk form once, and it looked as dark as this. I found it and others near the edge of the chasm, along with a good deal of blood."

"She could have healed herself and _then _looked."

He shook his head, regarding her with a sombre gaze. "Considering what she escaped from, Asleena, would you fault her fleeing this place as soon as she could? And we already know she is very sick."

Asleena stared at him a moment, lowered her gaze and nodded. Sindel may not have even remembered her promise to look for Ferrix, and who could blame her? "Let's keep looking," she said. "There's still time."

She stopped calling the warhound's name after that, and the only noises that passed between her and Zevran were the odd "Have you found something?" when one or the other paused, which was always followed by "No." The constant effort involved with pushing aside, ducking under, climbing over or forcibly chopping greenery, commingled with the hot weather, much warmer than down in Ferelden, was energy sapping and added to the fatigue neither human nor elf had completely shaken off after recent events.

When the light deteriorated and grew poor, Asleena put up her sword. "Zev?" she called, and he appeared over by a stand of low bushes. "That's enough. Let's go back."

He reached her side and together, in silence, they retraced the path to the earthwound. The two Dalish, both wearing leather face masks that covered nose and mouth, lowered their bows when the pair appeared and nodded. Behind them, near the edge of the chasm, a smouldering pyre sent greasy smoke into the rainbow-painted sky.

"I'll just be a moment," Asleena said to Zevran in a tightly controlled voice, and wandered east a bit along the edge of the ravine, not wanting to look at the beauty of the sunset. She drove her dar'missan point-first into the ground before kneeling beside it.

"We didn't find a body," she muttered to herself, staring fixedly at the darkening horizon and gripping the blade's hilt hard. "We didn't find a body. He could still be alive. Keep it together, Asleena…"

Sindel's clan. They had to get to the camp. If Ferrix wasn't _there _then…then maybe they could look again tomorrow. They didn't have to head for Starkhaven right away. They could return, bring more help. The Dalish had hunters and trackers. She'd heard some of their rangers could even speak to wolves. If they couldn't find Ferrix it would only be because…

…because he'd ended up in the earthwound. Eaten by darkspawn. Or drowned.

And if they _did _find him in the forest, what wretched remains would they discover after two days of lying in the open, exposed to scavengers, insects and the elements? Did she really want to see that? The mangled corpse of her beloved friend?

Those thoughts, the hardships of the last couple of days and the exhaustion brought on through the long afternoon of searching and finding nothing finally cracked her armour open. Her head bowed, her shoulders shook and she gasped her sobs around the horrible ache squeezing her chest. The thought of her noble mabari falling so far from home, not even in Ferelden, was suddenly too much to take. Her parents had given him to her when he'd been an exuberant puppy whose idea of running was hopping around on all fours in cute little bounds. He'd been small enough to hold in her cupped hands. The thought of this tiny floppy-eared animal growing into a great warhound had been…impossible to believe back then. Mother and Father had brought in a man from Denerim to teach her how to train Ferrix properly and he'd always been eager to please her…he'd even pinched things from the larder for her when Nan hadn't been watching. But Nan was dead, her parents were dead, and Ferrix…

There were footsteps behind her, which stopped. She always knew when it was Zevran; he made a point of walking just so when he was approaching her from an unseen angle. Had he been Alistair he'd be beside her in a heartbeat, strong arms around her and rocking her against his chest and letting her get it out of her system.

Maker, but she missed just being _held_. She'd always had someone. Her family for the greater part of her life, then Alistair after that…and Ferrix through it all. He couldn't hug, couldn't talk, couldn't pat you on the back, but in hard times he always looked at you like he knew exactly what was wrong and wanted to make it all better…those large, dark brown eyes, so full of unconditional love and unwavering trust.

"Everyone loved him," she said hoarsely. "I even caught Morrigan slipping him treats. Morrigan! Ferrix left a dead animal in her underclothes once. Didn't think she'd ever get over that."

"He was…a fine friend."

She rubbed at her eyes. The sky was getting darker and stars were appearing. "You know…the only time I ever really felt a glimmer of liking and sympathy for Loghain was when I overheard him talking to Ferrix. He had a mabari too, called Adalla." More tears stung her eyes. "He s-said…he said Adalla died with her head in his lap and he believed she died happy. Ferrix didn't even have _that_."

Zevran said nothing. Perhaps he didn't know what to say. Perhaps there was nothing he _could _say.

"But…he could still be alive." Asleena looked back at him. "Right?"

The assassin did not meet her gaze. "You would know better than I, Asleena."

She looked at him a moment longer then away. She pulled her sword free and glanced across the chasm. There were black shapes visible on the other side, and memory replayed the disastrous scene of her distracting Alistair, the Shrieks leaping upon him with their cruel blades...

"I never thought to actually ask if Alistair survived the fight," she realised aloud in a shaking voice.

"He did. I heard the elves speaking of him."

"You did?" She twisted around to stare at him again. "What else did you hear?" she asked eagerly, hungry for any scrap of good news.

"I heard that he was injured, but is recovering fast." Zevran expression turned thoughtful. "I heard that some of the Dalish, unlike the fool healer woman we encountered before, are grateful to him and invited him to make his home with them—no small thing, when you consider he is human. He declined, however."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

He had the decency to look slightly ashamed. "I…apologise, Asleena. I learned what I did last night when you were fevered and in no condition to hear such news…"

"…and it slipped your mind today? It's all right." She gave him a smile. "With all you've done recently I think you deserve a little leeway. It's just…it's just good to hear he's alive."

There was a pause. Asleena wiped more tears away.

"I am sorry about Ferrix, my friend. Truly, I am." He offered a hand, even though she could easily stand by herself now. She took it anyway. A simple gesture. It helped.

"Thanks, Zev..."

"I think I will miss Oghren's attempts to put a saddle on him the most."

An involuntary snort of laughter escaped her, and a grin tugged her lips. She shrugged a nod. "That was pretty funny. You missed the growling match he had with Sten. That was before you tried to kill me."

"Alas. But I was there for when he stole Wynne's staff. She should not have suggested giving him antlers."

"Or turning him purple." She looked at the pyre. The fire had almost burned out, and the Dalish were scooping earth onto the embers to finish it off. The brief moment of levity faded. "I guess we should get moving to Sindel's clan. Then…we'll know for sure."

They and the Dalish struck out into the trees a few minutes later, heading south. No one spoke, and no one said a word when the far-off, keening sound of a wolf's howl caused Asleena's stride to falter briefly and her head to turn. Further away, in answer, another wolf called.

Mabari were descended from wolves, according to Ferelden myth.

She wondered if they knew this, and mourned one of their own.


	27. Second Chances

_Author's Note: WARNING - This chapter makes more than one mention of rape. If you choose to skip this chapter, you will find a brief summary of it at the top of the next.  
_

* * *

Night had fully fallen by the time they reached Sindel's clan. Scouts sighted them when they crossed the river and waved them through after exchanging a few words with the two guides.

"We were not expecting to see either of you again," one said to Asleena and Zevran. "Keeper Sindel said you may have survived underground, but given her condition…"

"How is she doing?" Asleena asked, putting aside her questions of Ferrix for now. It didn't feel right to simply come out and ask after her mabari when the elf who'd helped her and Zevran was tainted and dying.

The scout looked saddened. "Our healer Halentir says she is enduring, but weakens steadily. Is there any hope for her, Warden?"

"I think there might be. I will do all I can, I promise."

He smiled and pointed on down the forest trail where the camp lay. "Find Halentir and he will aid you. Dareth shirel."

The guides from Damalian's clan indicated they wished to remain and speak with the scouts a while longer, so Asleena and Zevran bade them farewell and proceeded alone between the silent trees.

"What did you mean, you would do all you can?" Zevran asked, eyeing his companion narrowly. "Were those empty words?"

"What? No, not at all. I thought of a way that might save her life, if she has enough time to travel with us." Asleena hesitated, then added, "Or it might kill her faster…"

"The Joining?" When Asleena nodded, Zevran hummed to himself. "Perhaps that will work, if you can convince her to leave, of course."

"Consider the alternatives for her future."

"Ah, yes, a gruesome descent into corrupted madness, either as a ghoul or something worse." He shuddered a little. "I see your point. Denerim is a long way from here though, even were she to fly the distance."

Asleena nodded. "There is a chance that we might be able to do the ritual at Starkhaven. I remembered why the name sounded familiar…a Blight _did _end there back in the Divine Age. The second one. And if an archdemon fell there, they might have the necessary…ingredients for preparing a Joining."

"What if she won't come? Will you conscript her?"

"No," she replied at once. "I won't force her. There's no Blight, so there's no need. It'll be her call."

They reached the encampment and Zevran stopped an elf to ask where they might find Halentir. Asleena used the moment to look around quickly and listen hard for any signs of Ferrix, but to no avail. Concealing her despondency as best she could, she followed Zevran to an aravel which was surrounded by the familiar hallmarks of a healer's trade. Bunches of dried herbs hung down the wooden sides of the landship, flasks of coloured liquid sat on shelves, and there were sickbeds…though only two were occupied and neither patient was Sindel. Tending them was an elven man with short brown hair and simple robes. When he noticed the new arrivals he came over straight away.

"Creators preserve us," he muttered, scrutinising the two of them. "Blood, sweat and dirt all over. What trouble have the two of y—wait." He looked at them more closely. "You were the city-elf and human who went with the Keeper, correct?"

"Correct," Asleena said, mentally bracing herself for another healer-tirade. "We don't need any ministrations," she went on before Halentir could do more than raise his brows and stare. "We came to see Sindel."

"I see…"

"How is she? We know she's been tainted."

Halentir sighed. "The corruption in her blood is only part of what she suffered, Warden. As you no doubt know, women serve a very specific purpose to the darkspawn…and they wasted no time starting on her."

Asleena stared at him in horror, blood freezing in her veins. "They…they _raped _her?" she whispered harshly.

"As the one who healed her physical wounds I have no doubt this is the case," he confirmed in a heavy voice. "She has not spoken of it, and I have only told you two and her betrothed."

It was one thing to see a broodmother and know how it had come to be. They looked nothing like the women they had once been. Chances were they remembered nothing either, which would be a mercy if true. But a woman who had suffered the beginnings of the…_initiation_ only to escape, memories intact…

"Her betrothed?" Zevran prompted into the silence.

"He is with her now," Halentir said. "Galahan by name. He was one of the warriors with Alistair, but he returned to the clan when he learned of what befell Sindel." He shook his head. "He blames himself, in a way. The Keeper had desired to go with him and Alistair to the earthwound, but he forbade it and took another of our mages instead."

Alistair was not here then, Asleena surmised. It was probably just as well. Between Sindel and Ferrix she didn't know if she could cope with that right now. "I didn't know you could forbid a Keeper to do anything," she said.

"It's not unheard of, shemlen. He is her key protector, we lost our old Keeper Turii only a short while ago, and she has no First as yet. The lives of all our people are of importance, but with hers lies much of the old ways and lore." He waved a hand. "That is for another time, however. If you are willing, I can take you to see Sindel now."

They were led a short distance away to one of the dark brown Dalish tents from which soft voices could be heard. Halentir said something in elvish, waited for one of the occupants to reply, then held the canvas flap open. "Guests, Keeper. You may be pleased to see them." He stood aside and waved Asleena and Zevran to go within.

Sindel gasped at the sight of them. "Mythal be praised! You both live!"

Asleena summoned a smile. "No small part thanks to you."

Though clearly lucid, the Keeper did not look well. Her skin was pallid and waxy and dark circles were under her eyes. Asleena didn't even need those physical hints to know there was taint in her blood. She lay in a pile of blankets and furs, wearing only a plain shift, her black hair streaming down one shoulder. Kneeling beside her was another elf, a young man in green and brown leather armour.

"This is Asleena, the Grey Warden I spoke of," Sindel said to him. "And her brave companion Zevran. My friends, allow me to introduce my betrothed Galahan."

"Sindel tells me you tried to go back for her when she was attacked," the other elf said in an even-toned but musical voice. He stood, crossed his arms over his chest and bowed. "I thank you. Ma serannas." Galahan was tall for an elf, maybe even taller than Asleena, and very handsome beneath his vallaslin with pale green eyes and shoulder-length golden hair held back by a braided leather cord. Zevran seemed to be paying him quite a bit of attention.

"Galahan met Alistair outside of the human settlement of Markham, then went on with him to the earthwound," Sindel said. "I believe they became friends before parting. Please…sit so we may talk. Halentir, would you mind having some food and drink brought to us?"

"Of course, Keeper." The healer withdrew, letting the tent flap fall closed.

Galahan knelt beside Sindel again and returned Zevran's speculative look quite openly, but rather than making some suggestive remark or bat his eyelashes the assassin appeared uncomfortable by the attention.

"Tell us how you got out," Sindel said, smiling and oblivious to the byplay. "Please. How long were you down there?"

Unable to refuse her request, Asleena and Zevran made a relatively accurate accounting of their time in the Deep Roads. Refreshments arrived when they got to their exit via the cave.

"Zev had to leave me to find help," Asleena said, helping herself to a piece of fruit. "I almost ended up getting eaten by a desire demon, but he came to my rescue. Again."

"You make it sound like a chore, my dear," Zevran murmured. "It was my pleasure, I assure you."

"Anyway, he brought some Dalish with him and their healer, Valar, gave me some healing and helped us to Damalian's clan this morning to fix my leg."

"Valar, hm?" Galahan leaned back, nodding slightly in Zevran's direction. "I know him. A fine healer. And this was yesterday that he helped the two of you? Last night?"

Asleena nodded as the Antivan shifted position beside her, very slightly. "Yes. Why?"

"Oh…no reason, Warden. Just getting the facts straight. A great deal has happened recently." He looked at the Keeper. "I received word of my love's fate the same night. I would have travelled with Alistair this morning and escorted him personally to the border of the Green Dales, but could not when I heard the news." He touched Sindel's face gently and she smiled up at him.

"I think it's your turn to share your tale, Sindel," Asleena invited. "If you can."

The elven woman's smile vanished and her eyes became haunted, but she nodded. Galahan took one of her hands in both of his. It took a while before she could bring herself to speak. "They held me for a time, Warden," she said, every word sounding like it was being wrenched from her. "They didn't let go until the waters came. I don't know if it was minutes later or hours. They…forced me to…to…eat and drink…right there in the broodmother's chamber."

Asleena's fingers curled into fists and her nails bit into her palms.

"They threw up in my face and made me swallow," Sindel said. "They cut flesh from the…the corrupted corpse of my mentor…and crammed it into my mouth." Her voice shook with anger and revulsion. "And they ripped my robes, and forced_…themselves…upon me_."

Galahan bowed his head and murmured something under his breath. Zevran sat motionless. Asleena and Sindel remained with their eyes locked upon each other, a depth of understanding and outrage no words could express passing between them.

Asleena wanted to say something, apologise for not being able to help, for being stupid enough to have dropped into the earthwound in the first place, but no amount of eloquence or sincerity could ever be sufficient, and words would ultimately do nothing. She knew that Sindel did not hold her or Zevran responsible. It made things no easier. She could only feel guilt at her part in this, and hate-fuelled anger at what had been done by the darkspawn.

_If only my leg hadn't been broken._

…_yes, then I'd have been crushed to death and Zev would have been on his own too. Great thinking._

"Will I change?" Sindel asked in a toneless voice. "Like Turii did?"

Asleena let out a long breath and shook her head. "I don't believe they had you long enough for something that extreme. But change…is inevitable when you become tainted. I'm sorry." When Sindel leaned into Galahan and he wrapped an arm around her, Asleena said, "I learned of your sickness this morning and thought about it for a long time today. There may be a way out for you, but it would mean leaving your people, maybe forever. It would mean coming with me and joining the Grey Wardens."

"Leave?" Sindel whispered, but Galahan was frowning thoughtfully. "I am the Keeper of my clan! I hold the lore of my people! I _can't_ leave."

"Then I can't help you."

She hated saying it, she felt heartless for stripping all other hope away and seeing despair fill Sindel's eyes, but it was the best way to present the choices available.

"You know how to fight darkspawn," Asleena told her. "More, you risked yourself to ensure Zevran and I would be safe from the flood. I value that kind of loyalty and courage highly." She smiled encouragingly. "I could use your help. I _want _people like you."

Sindel wavered, indecision scrawled across her face. "If I joined…I could visit my people at least? I could pass on what I know to my successor one day?" She looked and Galahan and began to say something else, but bit her lip.

"It is possible, but not certain," Asleena said quietly. "Like I said, you may never see them again."

"What if I came too?" Galahan asked, looking up. "Could I also become a Grey Warden?"

Sindel drew a small breath, eyes widening, looking from her betrothed to Asleena, and the Warden paused. It couldn't have been more obvious that if she agreed she'd get them both. Apparently Sindel's duties as a Keeper weren't as important to her as remaining with her love. Asleena found it quite easy to sympathise with that.

But she didn't know if Galahan was making his offer out of a desire to actually join or a desire to push his betrothed into accepting…not that you had to _want _to be a Grey Warden to survive the Joining…it was just that the idea of having one of the pair live through it while the other died writhing on the floor before them…was not one she wanted them or herself to experience.

_Sod it…Anora let it slip during the Landsmeet in front of nobles, guards and servants…_

"The Joining can be fatal," she said flatly, ignoring Zevran's sudden stare. "It may save your life, Sindel, or it may kill you. At worst, your life will be over in a matter of seconds rather than drawn out over days." She turned her gaze from the Keeper's shocked face to Galahan's composed one. "Why don't you look in the least bit surprised?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

"I already know," he admitted, looking down. "Alistair told me."

She wondered what else Alistair had revealed about the Grey Wardens and felt a small sting of anger at the thought he might be betraying secrets, but didn't ask. It wasn't important right now. "You know," she said, "and you're still willing to join us?"

"I asked _him _if I could join." Galahan met her eyes again. "So, yes."

"One of you could die. Both of you could die."

"One of us already is dying," Sindel said. She gripped Galahan's hand. "You need not come."

"I want to," he said. "Where you go, I go." Pain crossed his features. "I should never have made you stay behind."

Asleena nodded slowly, giving in. Fate might separate them, but she would not. "All right. Tomorrow you say your farewells and we head for Starkhaven. Is your clan willing to put up with us for the night, Sindel?"

"Of course, Asleena. I can request some tents pitched for you."

"One moment," Zevran said, giving Asleena a significant look. He pulled Sindel's feathers from his belt and got up to give them to her. "Yours, I believe, my dear Keeper? We found them at the earthwound…and you did not complete your tale of how you escaped."

He sat back down beside Asleena, who nodded thanks to him. How could she have forgotten?

Sindel stroked the long quills gently. "Andruil's blessing has its limits," she said. "I can't change if I'm being physically or magically restrained. Had I…transformed before the first sharlock struck rather than confronting it I might have gotten away unharmed. It had some agent or poison on its weapons that locked my limbs, and after that I…was at their mercy." She gave the feathers to Galahan, who reached behind himself to place them alongside a quiver lying on the floor.

"The darkspawn only let me go when the river was unleashed into the earthwound," Sindel went on. "They did it out of surprise, I think…I doubt they expected I was in any state to flee and get far. I changed, I flew…and I crashed as soon as I crested the edge. I was too weak and injured to change back and I can't cast in animal form, so I just lay there and hoped my strength would return…but it didn't. I felt sick. I remember trying to call for help, but I was still a hawk. Eventually…I blacked out. And woke here."

"Then…then you couldn't have found Ferrix," Asleena said, unable to be silent on the subject any longer. Grief, hot and terrible, clawed at her heart.

"No," Sindel confirmed quietly. But then the ghost of a smile wisped against her lips. "He was the one who found me."


	28. Dusk and Dawn

_A brief summary of chapter 27 for those who skipped it: Asleena and Zevran reach Sindel's Clan and are informed by their healer, Halentir, that the darkspawn assaulted the Keeper in an attempt to turn her into a broodmother. Asleena and Zevran are taken to a tent where Sindel is recuperating, with her betrothed Galahan in attendance. They share the tales of their respective ordeals and escapes, and Sindel is convinced to leave the Dalish and become a Grey Warden when Galahan asks if he too can go through the Joining. Asleena warns them both that the ritual could kill either or both of them, but it is decided that they will all leave for Starkhaven in the morning (Asleena hopes there will be archdemon blood stored in Starkhaven, as a Blight ended there in a past Age). Galahan was one of the elves who accompanied Alistair to the earthwound and he appears to recognise Zevran, though he says nothing more besides commenting that Valar (the elf who was tending Alistair before following Zevran to help Asleena) is known to him as a fine healer. Galahan returned to Sindel's Clan when word reached him of her injuries, leaving his elven companions to escort Alistair from the Green Dales. The chapter ends with Sindel explaining how she escaped when the earthwound began to flood: the darkspawn released her and she transformed into a hawk to flee. When she landed on the surface and lost consciousness, she awoke to find herself with her clan. She later learned that Ferrix had found her and carried her back to her kin.  
_

_Author's Note: __Sorry for the delay! Got distracted by Awakenings. ^_^_

_Hekateras: Good questions. As for Galahan, you're right, he could just be a non-Warden companion. However, he has stated he actually wishes to be a Warden and even asked Alistair if he could be one. Where leaving the clan is concerned, Asleena's main reason for saying that (especially the 'maybe forever' bit) was taking into account the possibility the Joining can kill-of course meaning Sindel would never return to her clan. That aside, I (and Asleena .) am going on the basis that if a Warden is recruited then they go with their new mentor, they're not just tossed into the world to fight darkspawn or do whatever they want. There should be training and learning of the ropes. I tend to think Duncan would have done this with the PC if he hadn't been killed, as he had with Alistair. :/_

_Everyone: Thank you. ^_^ And er...yes...I have sidetracked slightly. XD_

* * *

Zevran watched as Asleena ran off ahead towards the distant enclosure and the sound of frantic, eager barking. Ferrix's usually deep-toned calls had gone up an octave or two at the sight of his mistress, and once free of his pen dog and human were literally rolling on the ground together.

_The Hero of Ferelden and her noble mabari warhound._

He chuckled softly, his spirits rising at the sight. He could hear her laughing. It felt good to see her happy, and he couldn't deny some personal pleasure at knowing Ferrix was alive and well.

"We had to keep him penned away from the camp," Galahan said beside him, his voice soft as he observed the reunion of the Warden and her dog. "Apparently he made so much noise no one could get any sleep, and my clanmates didn't want him dashing back into the Green Dales to get lost or injured again. Fortunately the halla don't mind his company."

Sindel had remained in the tent to sleep, and Galahan had offered to take Asleena and Zevran to Ferrix. Zevran, remembering the recent discussion and some of the things Galahan had _not _said, gave the taller elf a sidelong glance.

"I suppose we will be travelling together," Galahan said.

"This looks to be so, yes."

"Alistair mentioned you were an assassin."

"And I still am. One of the best, I might add."

"You tried to kill him."

"And her," Zevran agreed, nodding towards Asleena. "But only once. Happily it didn't work out and we all became friends. Did he say nothing _nice _about me?" he asked in exasperation.

"It wasn't all bad." Galahan continued to watch Asleena and Ferrix with a thoughtful expression. "He did say he counted you amongst his friends."

"And what of her?"

"That…is much more complex, and not for me to share." The hunter's eyes turned to Zevran. "I did see you that night, at the outcamp when you left with Valar, but had no idea who you were at the time. Most of the elves there were not of my clan and thus unknown to me."

Zevran waited for the questions to come, but when they didn't he spread his hands slightly. "And? What is it you wish to know?"

"Word of Sindel was not the only news received that eve. You and Asleena were mentioned as well…I was told you were presumed dead."

He had completely forgotten about that. Zevran tried to recall what he'd overheard, but it wasn't easy. He had been tired, hungry and run ragged at the time.

Galahan continued. "One of the elders came to me with this information and asked my advice on whether Alistair should be told. As his friend, I was asked to make the decision on whether to tell the truth of what we knew, or keep him ignorant. My question for you is…which path do you think I took?"

There was a rush of heavy paws against the turf then, and Ferrix was suddenly there. He sat down in front of Zevran, stumpy tail wagging enthusiastically, and looked up at the assassin with an expectant air and his tongue lolling out. Zevran lifted his eyes from the mabari to where Asleena was sitting on the ground back near the pen, watching and grinning, then returned his attention to Ferrix.

He raised a coolly professional brow.

"So, my friend. I hear that you rescued a stunning elven lass the other night."

Ferrix barked.

Zevran shook his head and tsked. "You think a single jaunt with me into Fort Drakon and you are suddenly qualified to go saving beautiful women all by yourself? Or exotic birds, as the case may be?"

Another bark.

"I also understand you wasted no time putting your mouth to good use…while she was unconscious, no less."

A cocked head and a puzzled whine greeted this observation.

"That sort of action could get you into trouble, my friend. It is a good thing you are a dog."

Ferrix barked happily and Zevran crouched, using both hands to scratch the animal's jaws. The warhound's eyes closed lazily at the attention while both paws hooked around Zevran's arms to keep him where he was.

The assassin chuckled. "Here we are, yes? The heroes of the hour. Go on now, back to Asleena."

The mabari licked one of Zevran's hands and galloped back to his mistress. Zevran stood up again, absently wiping drool from his glove to his pants, and looked at Galahan. The Dalish elf wore a pained expression.

"Did you have to talk about Sindel in that manner?" he asked.

"You take offence at me remarking on how attractive she is?" Zevran replied, a grin coming easily to his face. "But it is true. She is a fine catch and you should be proud to see envy in the eyes of every other man."

"I see Alistair was not exaggerating about you one bit. But as to my question…"

Not so easily distracted then. Zevran examined the elf for a silent moment. Alistair had said something about Galahan being clever, and while the ex-Templar wasn't known for being the sharpest sword in the rack it was clear he'd been on to something in this case. If Galahan had seen Zevran that night and knew he'd spoken to the healer, then he also knew Zevran had seen Alistair and said nothing.

"You didn't tell him," Zevran guessed.

Galahan nodded. "I didn't know if I did the right thing at the time," he said. "Alistair is…very much given to emotion. Telling him might have done him a favour and allowed him to move on, or it might have broken him further. He is a good man at heart, and I was afraid of the consequences."

"You do not strike me as a man made easily afraid."

"Not of darkspawn or any enemy I can shoot down. But of losing a friend? That is something else to fear."

Near the halla enclosure, Asleena got to her feet. She and Ferrix started to come back towards them.

"What game do we play here?" Zevran asked quietly.

"No game," Galahan said with a shrug. "As a hunter to an assassin, allow me simply to say I understand silence. But as one elf to another…be careful of how many secrets you keep." He looked towards Asleena's approach and raised his voice. "The tents should be ready by now, but perhaps you'd both prefer to wash before sleeping."

"Yes, please," Asleena agreed with a laugh. "Are we talking bathing in the river?"

"Unfortunately our camp lacks certain amenities," Galahan replied, smiling. "Tubs and the like. I could arrange for a small amount of water to be heated, but not enough for full immersion."

"That's no problem, I can deal with cold water. Zev, why do you look so serious?"

Zevran came down from whatever dark thought he'd been lost in and made himself look even more pensive. "I just occurred to me that…well, you bathed me when I was unconscious once, yes?"

"I never said that!" Asleena objected, going red and shooting a glance at Galahan, whose brows had shot up.

"I have neglected to repay you for that, you see," Zevran went on thoughtfully as though she hadn't spoken. "I must apologise, my dear. I swear I will make it up to you. Tonight, preferably. I believe the Dalish are fond of body oils."

"I didn't bathe you, Zevran! I asked one of the men to do it. He was big, muscular, and had _lots_ of hair."

Zevran grinned. "As I've said before…you are a cruel woman."

* * *

Bathing was accomplished—separately, and with scouts keeping watch. Zevran returned from his ablutions with two of his Dalish protectors giving him hopeful looks, one of whom ended up in his tent and in his arms a short time later. It had been a week since Markham, or near to it, and he hadn't been about to refuse the advances of any luscious lovelies willing to have some fun with no strings attached. The distraction was welcome, the pleasure mutual, and the release…much needed.

Dawn found him in a good humour, and in possession of a small pouch of dried seeds his delightful bed-mate had given him as a parting trifle. An odd present if one didn't know what it was, but Zevran had recognised the distinctive aroma immediately and so it was that Asleena came upon him that morning sitting before a small fire, carefully stirring a pot of thick brown liquid over the flames.

"You look like you slept well," she noted, sprawling on the opposite side of the fire. Ferrix lay down beside her and she scratched his head. "What are you cooking?"

"You will have the great pleasure of tasting it for yourself, my dear, when it is done," Zevran told her. "But it is more of a drink than food. An Antivan recipe, much favoured for its sweetness and spice." He added a pinch of something to the pot and continued to stir.

"Antivan, hm? Trying to poison me?"

He tsked, then smirked. "This concoction is more valued for its seductive qualities, or so the legends go."

"I _see_…"

"Yes, indeed. Feel free to throw yourself into my arms if you get any sudden urges. I promise not to take too much advantage of you." Pouring a measure of the viscous stuff into a mug and picking up a spoon, he sampled a little to be sure of the taste, smiled his satisfaction and got up to give the cup to Asleena. She took it and sniffed cautiously.

"What's in it?"

"Halla milk, sugar, cornflour and certain select spices, none of which are lethal in my experience. The key ingredient is from Par Vollen. Try some." Zevran resumed his seat and watched with an expectant grin as she scooped up a spoonful, tasted, then flushed.

"Oh, my…whatever it is, it's…it's delicious."

"In Antiva we call it _cioccolata densa_," he told her extravagantly, and poured some for himself. "I think it's still catching on in the south."

"Not fast enough if you ask me," Asleena said, taking another spoonful and grinning. "This is fantastic."

Their tents were set a little apart from the rest of the camp so they were largely undisturbed for the next hour, which they spent drinking, eating a more substantial breakfast, cleaning their armour, and tossing a stick around for Ferrix to chase. Zevran had a feeling Asleena didn't want to rush Sindel and Galahan's departure, even though the Keeper-turned-Grey Warden recruit was ailing, but didn't question the delay. It was a good morning and they'd both been through enough to deserve some idle time in his opinion. All that marred the new day was the niggling memory of what he hadn't told her of Alistair and, now that she was clean and he could see it clearly, the bruise marking one side of her face.

"Why are you frowning at me?" she asked suddenly, pausing as she scoured darkspawn blood off a greave.

"The bruise I gave you," he said, tapping one of his cheeks for emphasis.

"How's it look? I don't have a mirror."

He snorted softly. "Such marks do not belong on a face like yours. I don't like looking at it."

"What do you want me to do? Wear a bag over my head?" She was grinning as she said it, which annoyed him for some reason. "Zev, it'll go away in a few days. It doesn't even hurt unless I yawn—" Which she promptly did, with a wince, then a grimace.

"That is…not the point," Zevran said, feeling uneasy as he tried to explain. "I struck you. It was necessary at the time, I realise, but I simply don't like seeing those marks and remembering I put them there. Do you understand what I mean?"

She rubbed the side of her face self-consciously. "Oh…yes, I understand. I could try asking Halentir to heal it before we leave."

"If you could, I would be relieved."

"You don't look relieved."

He sighed. It would be better if he told her rather than have her find out some other way, he decided, and he was weary of having the secret hang over his head like some Fade spectre of impending doom. "There is something I should have told you before, but I was…unsure of how you would react. You may not like it and I…I apologise in advance for my silence."

She put her armour down and gave him her full attention, but a flicker of unease showed deep in her eyes. "Is that what all this was about?" she asked, gesturing at the empty mugs near the fire.

"No, no…" he shook his head. "That was because I felt inspired—and came upon the cocoa seeds only this morning. It is unrelated, I swear."

"All right. I'm listening."

"On the night we escaped the Deep Roads and I left you to find help…I found Alistair."

"You…you _what_?"

She looked more startled than anything. Zevran pressed on. "He was one of Valar's patients, but he did not see me and I did not announce my presence. That is how I knew he lived."

"Why didn't you tell him you were there? Why didn't you bring him?" she demanded, and now the anger sounded in her voice and drew her brows together.

"What would you have had me say to him?" he asked quietly, feeling more than ever like a fool. "And if he had come, what then? You were fevered, and then there was the demon. I didn't know about that of course, but in retrospect—"

"In _retrospect_," she began to retort, then broke off and pinched the bridge of her nose. "In retrospect," she said again, more evenly, "perhaps it's just as well. Right. Why not? That's one of the arguments I'm going to use on _him_." She shook her head and met his eyes with a frown. "I had a fever and was in no condition to hold any sort of discussion with him. And when you found me I was kissing a damn demon, which, I admit, I wouldn't have liked him to see.

"Why didn't you tell me the next morning though? And don't tell me the reason is because it slipped your mind."

"I…I do not know, Asleena. I truly don't. Like I said, I apologise."

She held his eyes a few moments longer, then nodded. "All right. I forgive you." She picked up the greave and began to scrub it again. "I…am sorry as well. For snapping. I just remembered when the demon first came upon me it said…what did it say?" She stopped again and frowned. "It _said _you had found him, Alistair that is, and sent him ahead while you looked for help. And everything felt perfect." She shrugged. "I guess it wouldn't have happened that way in reality, right?"

"You have no need to apologise," he told her, uncomfortable once more, but she waved his words off.

"I do, and I did. Are we good?"

"I…yes. I do believe we are." He cocked his head at her in bemusement.

"What?" She smirked a little. "It's not like you're trying to keep us apart, is it? You could have done that back in Denerim after all—we'd have headed straight for Rivain if it wasn't for you. Next time you find him, though…let me know as soon as you can?"

He put a hand to his heart. "You have my word."

Singing was coming from the other side of the camp and they both turned to see what was going on. It looked like the entire clan had finally gathered to farewell their Keeper and her betrothed. Sindel, walking unaided but looking frail, gave her staff to Halentir and said something to him. He bowed deeply in response. One by one, the Dalish embraced the two who were to leave the clan.

"Why did you leave the Dalish, Zev?" Asleena asked out of nowhere.

"The fantasy did not live up to the reality," Zevran said. "I was a child, as you'll recall. I may have grown up in a whorehouse, but it was not such a terrible place. I had a roof over my head, I was treated well enough and it was all I had known. The Dalish would have had me learn about their creators and how to forage for mushrooms and roots—in the rain, I might add. Plus, I would have been expected to have 'blood writing' etched into my face upon reaching a certain age, to show the world I was a proud free elven man." He chuckled and made a gesture with one hand to indicate his Crow tattoos. "Fate has a sense of humour, does it not?"

"Of a twisted sort," she agreed, and nodded towards Sindel and Galahan. "Which is what I'm afraid of."


	29. Making Beautiful Music

_Author's Note: Sorry for the delay! Hardware issues, and then this chapter proved a little tough to write. It's longer than usual though, so enjoy. :)_

_This chapter contains a small amount of in-game dialogue I can't take credit for. Props to Bioware's writers. :)  
_

* * *

She'd wanted to blast him for misleading her. She'd almost done just that. To know Alistair had been so close…_so close _after all this time but was now on the move again because Zevran had kept quiet to both him and her for one reason or another…

Truly forgiving someone was allegedly easier said than done, but she was seeking her own reprieve and had remembered that as soon as the word 'retrospect' had left her lips because it had been rolling around in her own head for weeks now.

_In retrospect…_

_You would have won a crown you didn't want. You might have died getting to the archdemon, or sacrificed yourself killing it. Morrigan would have brought her…choice…to me asking for _you_ rather than Loghain. And, in retrospect…Loghain died anyway. Just like you wanted._

_So it all worked out, right? He's dead, we're alive, you didn't have to sleep with a maleficar and father a demon child, you don't have to be king, and you can still be a Grey Warden…with me._

_Right…?_

All that had burned through her brain in the space of a second, making it impossible to condemn Zevran for a lie that had done no worse than delay the eventual confrontation that much longer. The former Crow had apologised. Sincerely. Twice. She had the feeling he'd even been a little afraid of what coming clean might cost him…a tongue-lashing at best, being told to leave at worst.

_Leave...when he has no home, no family, no trade besides murder, and a country full of former 'friends' who are out to kill him._

_Or yell at him…when I am the only one he has in the world right now, and being screamed at is exactly the thing I fear getting from Alistair._

And so she'd swallowed the venom she'd almost spat out and given him the forgiveness she so sorely craved for herself.

And she did forgive him…in retrospect, and as the hours rolled by while they rode west through the Green Dales. It was dangerously easy to be angry and reckless in the heat of the moment; Asleena Cousland could spit fire as well as any woman, but be damned if she'd do it at friend who was actually _sorry_. One small transgression he openly confessed and obviously regretted was not enough for her to rip into him.

Remembering the hell she'd put Duncan through after he'd forcibly removed her from Highever, she wondered if the old Warden Commander would be proud of her.

Then she wondered if he'd feel proud of how she'd dealt with Loghain and Alistair and, knowing she'd never get an answer for that, turned her attention resolutely to the trail ahead.

It would take roughly three days to reach Starkhaven mounted according to Galahan. They would be riding through forest most of the way so it would not be the fast and easy pace Asleena and Zevran had enjoyed across the Wildervale, although they would travel as swiftly as they could considering Sindel's condition. Asleena and Zevran again took to horseback while the two Dalish rode double atop a halla stag, Sindel sitting before Galahan with her hands resting lightly upon the animal's huge horns. The advantage of riding at something slower than a canter was the opportunity for conversation, and it flowed freely. There was talk of the Blight and the parts Asleena and Zevran had taken, most of which Galahan already knew up to the Landsmeet thanks to Alistair, though he paid attention to the entire account as though fully expecting to glean new information from the fresh perspectives. Sindel had heard next to nothing about it and drank it all in, especially the bits about battles that ended with darkspawn being reduced to the consistency of paste. There was some mutual sharing of histories. Asleena spoke of her life in Highever before Rendon Howe's betrayal and her conscription by Duncan, Zevran of his childhood in an Antivan whorehouse until being sold to the House of Crows to become an assassin. He even admitted the Dalish origin of his mother, her fall into prostitution and eventual death giving birth to him, which horrified Sindel.

For their own parts, Sindel and Galahan had always lived with the roaming clans and never amongst humans. Both had had dealings with shemlen on occasion, peaceful and violent, but neither had ever set foot within a city. Both had travelled far across Thedas in their lifetimes, but they had not lived in the same clan until almost two and a half years ago when they had first met in the Planasene Forest, some weeks travel southwest by aravel. Sindel had been running around as a hare—and plunged headlong into a game trap laid by Galahan himself.

"Being trapped I couldn't change," she said. "Fortunately it was a cage rather than a twine snare, or I'd have probably broken my neck. When he came along I was _terrified._ I thought he'd kill me, skin me and eat me!"

"How'd you let him know you weren't really an animal?" Asleena asked, riveted by the story.

The black-haired elf laughed loudly and leaned back into Galahan's chest. "By behaving like no ordinary hare would! The Dalish always stop to say a prayer or make an offering to Andruil before taking the life of one of her chosen creatures, so he didn't try to kill me straight away. That gave me enough time to get his attention."

"I seriously thought I was losing my mind when she started tapping the bars of her cage in time to my singing," Galahan said with a roll of his eyes. "I was convinced she was possessed by some spirit."

"He tried talking to me," Sindel said, grinning, "and after a few nods and shakes of my head he let me out, I turned back into myself, and he fell over backwards."

Asleena, Zevran and Sindel laughed, while Galahan shook his head with a wry smile and kissed the crown of his betrothed's head.

"Love at first sight?" Asleena inquired afterwards.

"Are you joking?" Galahan chuckled. "When she transformed I thought she was Ghilan'nain come again into elven form to curse me for trapping one of Andruil's favoured animals!"

Sindel laughter came once more. "We got off to a rocky start. But he caught me again in the end, and I suppose I stayed caught. That's when he joined Turii's clan. We've been betrothed since then." Her look became pensive and the levity faded from her voice. "We were to have wed before our Keeper two seasons past, but the darkspawn had started to appear in the Green Dales by that point."

"That is a long time to be promised to one another," Zevran noted, then grinned slyly. "I do hope you have consummated your commitment by now."

Sindel's said nothing and looked even more closed, while Galahan said, "It is not the proper way of things. Once the Elvhen were a patient people who did not rush."

Zevran shrugged. "And once the Elvhen lived forever. That is no longer how the world is, my friend, and considering one or both of you may die in a few days time, perhaps some rushing is in order."

"Can we not talk about this, please?" Sindel asked quietly, the darkness circling her eyes somehow looking quite a bit deeper in her white face.

"Explain the hawk and the hare thing to me," Asleena said before Zevran could put his foot in it any more deeply, though the assassin looked like he'd suddenly realised how close he'd been treading to a sensitive topic. "Why are they Andruil's…totem animals? Is that right?"

"Close enough," Galahan said, his arm wrapping a little more tightly around Sindel's waist. "They are the two aspects of the hunt: predator and prey, hunter and hunted. It is nothing more complex."

"May I ask which of the Creators your tattoos indicate?"

"They are the markings of Dirthamen, Keeper of Secrets."

"I would have thought a hunter would choose Andruil," Asleena said thoughtfully, comparing his vallaslin to Sindel's. "Not that I can claim to know much about your ways," she added, not wanting to give offence.

Galahan smiled. "We revere all of our gods, not only the one we take the vallaslin of, Asleena. Dirthamen…" he shrugged. "He just felt right for me."

"Do you have any special talents, like our dear Sindel here?" Zevran asked, watching the golden-haired elf closely.

Asleena raised a brow but Galahan shook his head. "No, I'm nothing so grand as my beloved. Anyone can do what I do."

"And what is that, precisely?"

Galahan mulled the question over, turned his green eyes to the assassin and then grinned suddenly. "Listen to the harmony as well as the melody. Know when to count yourself in. And if you don't know the song, at least recognise what keys are being played in."

Asleena blinked.

Zevran did not seem in the least surprised by the odd answer, and gave the hunter a shrewd look. "So anyone _musically inclined _can do what you do."

He laughed at that, seeming highly amused. "Maybe that's a better way of putting it, yes. Very good! Perhaps 'anyone' was an exaggeration. I could as well say anyone can swing a sword around, but fewer would be good at it, fewer still excel, and the true masters of the art would be the rarest of the breed."

"And you would consider yourself a master, no doubt."

"Not of swinging swords," Galahan replied with an arched brow and a slight curve of his lips. "Although I am a very good shot with a bow, and I'm told I can sing quite well."

"I think I'm…lost," Asleena said, looking at Sindel for help.

A smile transformed the former Keeper's tired face. "He does that sometimes. It used to drive me insane." She touched Galahan's arm. "Do you mind if I get down? I feel a need to stretch my wings."

The halla stopped and Sindel dismounted. Galahan lifted her chin with two fingers.

"Stay close," he said quietly.

"I will. And I'll whistle for Ferrix if I need to," Sindel added, giving the mabari a fond look and a pat on the head. Lifting her arms she changed and swept upwards with a stroke of her wings, heading for the few golden shafts of light penetrating the canopy. It was the first time Asleena had seen the elven woman shapeshift, and she found herself staring after the ascending hawk with a sense of wonder and no small amount of envy.

"It must be something to fly," she said wistfully.

Galahan had also dropped from the halla's back. He stooped, collected something from the forest trail then mounted again. Two long dark feathers were in his hand.

"Does she normally moult this much?" Zevran asked carefully.

Galahan reached back to slide the feathers into his quiver, glanced at Zevran with worried eyes and shook his head. "No."

They rode on.

* * *

Night fell, camp was set, wild rabbits cooked and consumed, and Asleena took first watch with Ferrix keeping her company. She fed some fresh wood into the cookfire and sighed to herself. She still hadn't gotten up the courage to ask Galahan anything about Alistair besides where he was headed.

"He is going to Starkhaven as we are," the elf had said while de-boning a rabbit for Ferrix. "Some of my clanmates went with him as guides when I could not, so he is in good company."

The distance was closing…

She sat down and glanced about the silent camp. There were three tents, one her own, one Zevran's, the last a Dalish affair shared by Galahan and Sindel. Asleena found herself looking at this one a bit longer than a person would normally look at a tent, rubbed her arms, then reached down and rubbed Ferrix. He rolled onto his back and wagged his tail happily.

"Keep the ears open tonight, boy," she muttered, patting his ribs. "Darkspawn are about."

Their presence was distant, a prickle along her spine…not threatening right now, but if they picked up on her 'scent' there could be trouble.

After about half an hour, Zevran emerged from his tent and came over. Simple clothes rather than his customary leather armour and a slight rumpling of his blond hair indicated he'd lain down to sleep but given up. In deference to the fact trouble could strike at any time, dagger and sword hung from the belts criss-crossing his chest and he'd pulled his precious Antivan boots on.

Without speaking, he sat down opposite her.

It was a custom that had taken hold without either even giving it voice. Since coming to the Free Marches they'd always sat opposite each other with the fire between. Except for that one time with Valar, but those had been…unusual conditions. Asleena had initially thought of it as putting temptation faaar out of reach, with the added bonus of a fire providing some sort of physical and mental barrier between them.

_Zevran Arainai_, the heat-warped air would warn whenever she looked at him over the flames. _Don't touch or you'll get burned. It's pretty. It's hot. And it'll hurt._

This hadn't exactly worked to plan back in the Vimmark Mountains, but that had been a once off and it hadn't happened again. He was waiting. Asleena knew perfectly well he'd been honest about his offer to give 'comfort' should Alistair turn her away. _She'd _been honest about not having brought Zevran along to use him, but her stance towards the assassin had changed substantially over the past weeks. The longer this chase went on, the closer they became, the easier it was to think that a little Antivan-style 'comfort' might not be such a bad thing…

"Thinking about it will only make the itch worse, my dear," Zevran said, breaking the quiet.

Asleena's eyes snapped from the Dalish tent to the former Crow. "What?"

"There is no need to be shy. I was trained to recognise certain signs, after all, and it has been a while for you."

Heat stung her cheeks. She hoped that was just the campfire. "So, what? You're going to try and seduce me again?" she muttered, humiliated, angry and a little afraid he could read _that _in her so easily.

But he shook his head. "Not at all. You are still chasing Alistair, and I rather like living." He grinned. "Compromising your virtue, while quite tempting I admit, might lead to all sorts of awkwardness. Him trying to stab me, for instance."

As usual, his way of putting things dispelled her irritation. "I would have thought you'd find that kind of thing fun," she couldn't help saying, and he chuckled.

"Ah yes…_fun_. I never told you about the time I was caught with another man's wife, did I? Caught by her husband, that is. I was forced to flee out the window and across the rooftops of Llomerryn without a scrap of clothing to my name."

The thought of Zevran scampering across rooftops in all his bronze-skinned glory was surprisingly easy.

"My point is, I prefer not to cheat. It saves a lot of unpleasantness."

The fire crackled and spat up sparks. Asleena looked at the flickering, shifting red and gold swirls. The desire to ask 'What if the time came that it wouldn't be cheating?' was shockingly strong. She clamped down on it hard, appalled with herself. She couldn't say that. She suspected Zevran's feelings for her and saying such a thing was tantamount to giving false hope, leading him on. She loved Alistair, and it would end well. It…it _would_.

She liked Zevran. She really did. When they'd first met in Ferelden and she'd spared his life, she had never thought she'd ever come to trusting him. He was a thief. He was an assassin—an assassin sent specifically to kill the Ferelden Grey Wardens. He killed people for money. He _enjoyed _killing people for money. He also quite liked the art of seduction and wasn't above letting his marks beg for their lives through carnal acts before killing them anyway.

In another lifetime she would have despised him as utterly contemptible. People who met him on a casual basis probably thought she was insane for associating with him, let alone counting him a friend, but after his loyalty during the Blight, even to killing his old companion Taliesen and standing with her against the archdemon, the longer she was with him, the more they relied on each other and the more of himself he revealed she…she couldn't help feeling _something_ for him.

Friendship, affection…not love. Not love. But she knew then, with sinking certainty, that it could easily _become_ love if she allowed it. If she let herself be swept away by it. If she was right about him.

And finding Alistair suddenly felt…a lot more difficult. She didn't know how to deal with this. Zevran had neither asked for nor expected anything of her, taking only what she offered. He knew how things stood. You couldn't just tell someone off for being respectful of your wishes and carrying an unobtrusive torch, could you?

_Maker's breath…why do feelings_ _have to be so bloody confusing?_

"Why are you up?" she asked. It came out more abruptly than she'd intended. She tried to soften it. "Trouble sleeping?"

The fingers of his right hand curled around something hidden in his palm. "I had been thinking, actually," he said. "It occurred to me I had not really thanked you for getting me out of that mess in Markham."

"I thought you were ahead in the whole 'saving lives' tally. If anything, I owe you now."

"That does not mean I can't still thank you, does it?" he asked. "Besides, I wished to give you something." His hand opened and firelight struck glints against the precious metal and tiny jewels of a single earring. "I acquired this on my first mission for the Crows. The mark, a Rivaini merchant prince, was wearing this earring—" he grinned "—and only this earring. I thought it beautiful and so I claimed it, a trophy if you will. And I would like to give it to you."

He rose to his feet and crossed the distance, passing the fire to crouch before her and hold out the glittering token.

Asleena's heart sank even as it pounded with betraying, shameful swiftness. "Zev, I…it's beautiful, but you don't have to give me anything for helping you."

"I wish to. It is a simple gift, nothing more than that. I know your ears are unpierced, but you do not have to wear it. Keep it, sell it even. Do whatever you like with it."

"Nothing more than a simple gift?" she repeated, and to her dismay saw the small ripple of uncertainty wash across his usually composed features, heard the hesitation in a voice that was normally as sleek as fine satin.

"I…just take it. Please. It has meant a great deal to me but so do…so has what you have done." He offered it again, golden-brown eyes watching her intently as he repeated his request. "Please. Take it."

Somewhere back in Ferelden, maybe in her room at Highever by now, there was a rose…

Asleena returned Zevran's gaze steadily and, in a soft tone, said the word she felt she must: "No."

He was still, and then he was standing, looking down at her. Anger, confusion and frustration chased each other over his face briefly before finally settling for the former emotion. The assassin _glared_.

"No?" he echoed. "And why not? How is this any different from the gloves or the boots I received from you? Why is an earring from me more unacceptable than a ring prised from the dead finger of some monster we have slain?"

His words had begun with deceptive softness and calm. Anger gave it volume halfway through, and the last word had a lethal hiss to it.

"Zev—" she began painfully, heart aching to see her friend like this, but she got no further.

"No. Fine. As you desire." With a flick of his fingers, his hand was empty. "You don't want the earring, you don't get the earring."

"_Zev!_" she tried again as he stalked away for his tent, but he ignored her, not even breaking stride, and vanished within the canvas-enshrouded gloom.

_Damn! Damn, damn, damn…_

Asleena ran both hands over her face and raked them through her hair, shivering, heart pounding, chest hurting, bewildered and upset. Should she have said something else? Just…just taken it for what he'd said it was?

She suddenly didn't want to think anymore. She was tired of thinking, questioning and doubting. She always wanted to do right by people, she always _tried_, so why did it _never _work out like she wanted?

Fury and bitterness seethed through her veins. After the near-argument she'd deliberately terminated this morning, she got this. Fine. So be it. Seized by a sudden need to be anywhere but here, she got up, strapped Duncan's shield to her left arm and started off into the trees. Ferrix ran to catch up, and stopped when she did.

"No," she said shortly to the mabari. "Stay. Stand guard here and start barking if something happens."

Ferrix whined a little, but retreated to the circle of the campfire and sat down. Brown eyes stared at her reproachfully.

"Not tonight," she apologised, feeling worse than ever for taking her anger out on her faithful dog—who, she reflected with a certain childish petulance, was more dependable than ex-Templars and ex-Crows thrown together. "Be good."

She turned her face away from the fire, towards the night, reached out for the distant presence of the darkspawn singing through her blood.

Then she strode purposefully towards it, sword whispering from its sheath.


	30. Reactions

Rage was not normally something Asleena indulged in, especially in battle. All of her training pointed towards discipline, clarity of thought and self-control. How could you protect your friends, command a battle or consider tactics if you let the bloodshed get to you? Letting go was a trap.

_Rise above the madness. _

She had spoken to Oghren on several occasions about the berserker styles of fighting and found at the time she didn't really like the idea very much. Berserkers tossed aside the thought that honour or restraint had any place in a fight. They embraced the horror, terror and violence of the field and turned it straight back at their enemies in all its brutality.

_Become the monster._

How easy it was not to _think_ and just let the battle-madness take over, make _them _hurt as much as you were.

The first hurlock lost its arm to a sweep of her sword, the second was knocked backwards into a tree after her shield slammed into its face. The darkspawn camp was larger than she'd anticipated, but she wasn't calculating the threat to herself, only the body count she could amass. The creatures were already scrambling to arm themselves, abandoning a grisly meal of some poor flayed travellers as she crashed into their midst like the wrath of the Maker Himself. An arrow buzzed past her head as a pair of the darkspawn got their bows in order, the second shaft screeched across her shield as she hastily lifted it and threw herself at the emissary standing beside the fire. She didn't even remember to Smite the beast, she simply launched herself at it and struck with a flurry of inelegant, hacking sword blows and shield bashes until it fell before the onslaught, unable to get a single spell off.

By this time the rest of them were armed and closing in on her. She wasn't as skilled with the use of a shield as _some _who would remain nameless, but she didn't care if jagged swords and axes pierced her armour and drew her blood. It only threw fuel on the fire. _Physical_ pain was a welcome distraction, easier to deal with and simpler to heal in the end.

Two sharlocks dropped, one ripped open from groin to neck, the other decapitated. She looked for the archers through the red mist but they were slumped against the roots of a tree, dead. She turned a full circle, breathing hard through gritted teeth. Everything was dead. A tiny ray of light called logic managed to penetrate her rage and point out she couldn't possibly have killed them all herself.

The archers and several more of the darkspawn had arrows sticking out of them…

Her anger sparked anew. If Zevran had followed her out here to skulk in the shadows and snipe _her _kills she was going to sodding _gut _him. She didn't need his damn help!

"Get out here," she ordered, and was mildly disappointed when Galahan emerged from the trees.

"I hope you don't mind," the elf said in neutral tones, tugging arrows from a corpse. "You said there were darkspawn around, so when you left I followed."

Asleena's eyes narrowed at him. "I never told you about the darkspawn."

"You were speaking to Ferrix. I was awake and the tent walls are…thin."

The silence drew out, punctuated only by the noise the arrows made when Galahan plucked them from darkspawn bodies. Asleena glared into the forest and snapped off a shaft sticking out of her shoulder. The point of the arrowhead was prickling her flesh through her armour, but it hadn't sunk in. Something wet trickled down the side of her face; she rubbed her forehead and felt the narrow gash a sword had left there. There was a burning pain across her ribs, she realised. And her left thigh hurt abominably.

"So you heard everything," she said.

"I think so."

"And did you follow me to keep an eye on me?"

"Oh…no. I followed you to kill darkspawn. You know, the monsters that savaged my betrothed?" He wrenched another shaft free and, seeing it had snapped, threw it aside. "She sleeps poorly," he said, still in the same even voice. "I think she dreams of them, but she won't admit it."

Asleena looked down at a hurlock corpse near her foot, her rage ebbing away, and tugged out an arrow. The fletchings were hawk feathers. "Are these enchanted?"

"Symbolic." He leaned on his bow, regarding her. The fire played gold and shadow across one side of his face. "Are there any more darkspawn around?"

"Not that I can sense."

"Unfortunate."

"Shouldn't you be with Sindel if she's sleeping badly?" Asleena said pointedly, wanting him to go away. She didn't want to talk, and she _really _didn't want to be feeling for anyone but herself right now.

"It's hard for her to have me near, after what happened with the Shrieks. She tries, but I know her too well. It's difficult to hold her now…not like I used to."

"I'm…sorry…"

He shrugged, eyes drifting away to the trees. "It's not your fault. Maybe with time…if there is time. But it's not easy…" he added quietly, half to himself, half to her, "loving someone and not being able to be as close as you wish."

Asleena cleaned her dar'misaan to avoid looking at him. "It's not easy being on the other side either, you know."

"I never imagined it would be. But why did you bring him, if you were after Alistair?"

"Do you think I would have, if I'd known?" Asleena rammed her sword into its scabbard and glared at the elf. "It was easy at first. He was a friend, the only one who was willing to come along, and as far as I knew he didn't care for me in _that _way. Sure there was temptation, but I never forgot who he was or how he viewed women. And men, on occasion," she muttered as an afterthought.

"So if you'd known…?"

"I'd have left him in Denerim! It's _cruel_, letting someone who loves you tag along when you're going off to find the one _you _love. Cruel and wrong and…and now I don't know." Asleena spread her hands helplessly. "I don't know. Maker, I don't even know why I'm telling _you_!"

Galahan smiled. "You sound like Alistair."

"A whining idiot?" she said spitefully.

"Angry. Doubting. Confused. But still trying."

"Trying to do _what_?"

"Just trying. In general. I wonder…if you could try something for me." At her frown, he looked away from her and said, "Talk to Sindel. Just…see if there's anything you can do. She didn't speak of what the sharlocks did until you showed up, so maybe…"

"I can…try, yes." She hesitated. Once again her temper had been unexpectedly defused.

"Ma serannas." He nodded at the trees. "Perhaps we should return to camp before we are missed."

Asleena gazed off in the direction he'd indicated, and all she could suddenly think of was that Zevran was back there, angry and hurt. "This isn't fair on him," she mumbled. "But I don't know what to do. What _do _you do in this situation? What do I say?"

The elf shook his head and chuckled softly. "I don't know, Asleena. Maybe you are not the one who has to find the right words."

* * *

Zevran was on the last watch. Galahan woke him a few hours before dawn, and the assassin prowled camp with restless, agitated energy for the duration, half wanting the sun to rise faster and half wishing it would remain dark forever. His thoughts were chaotic, and his emotions, usually kept under careful check, churned unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach. Try as he might he couldn't seem to calm them down _or _understand them.

_Damnable frustrating woman!_

They were friends, were they not? She'd given him gifts; he'd accepted them. He'd given her a gift; she'd refused it. _Why_? He'd said everything right. He'd asked for nothing and staked no claim upon her. So what had gone wrong?

_And why did I react so, when she would not take it? Why should I care?_

The sky gradually lightened and birds began to sing to the new day. Ferrix woke up beside the ashes of the fire and watched Zevran pace for a while, then yawned, rolled onto his back and stretched all four legs before closing his eyes again with a loud sigh. When it grew lighter still, Zevran set about rekindling the fire in an effort to try to distract himself with the menial task. It didn't work. He kept replaying the previous night over and over, trying to make sense of it all.

_You see, Zevran? This is why it is reckless to get attached. A good assassin cannot be off-balance and confused. No man or woman should have this power over you._

…_what _power_?_

_Ah, my devilishly handsome friend…you know. You knew once before, and quite rightly did away with the problem._

The flap to Asleena's tent twitched open and the Warden herself emerged, leather-clad for the day of riding ahead. Zevran's eyes narrowed and his lips thinned at the sight of the scar on her brow and grazes on her sword arm. What idiocy had the woman embarked upon after their discussion, after all he had done to keep her alive? He wanted to berate her. He wanted to know what had hurt her so he could kill it. He wanted—

_Or you could simply satisfy yourself. Entice her. Take her. Another pretty face in a long line of pretty faces. Once you taste her body you can stop wondering. You will be free. What you feel is…illusion, and she is no more than a distraction. A tempting… delectable…distraction…_

She must have seen his expression for her own cracked slightly, wavering. But then she started towards him. Zevran deliberately returned his gaze to the twigs and sticks of the campfire, scraping a block of flint down his dagger edge. Sparks rained into the kindling until, finally, it caught.

She sat down opposite him. He did not look at her and concentrated on building the flames up higher.

"Zev…"

"Hmm?"

"About last night—"

"I do not wish to talk about that."

"Are you sur—"

"_Yes, _I am sure!" he snapped, fixing her with an icy glare. "Did I not say so? Did you not hear? Do something else besides question me! See to the horses or…or _something, _but leave me be!"

She flinched at his tone but nodded, got up and walked away. Slowly, not fleeing. Giving him a chance to change his mind, maybe, and call her back. It angered him further. He didn't want her anywhere near him right now, not with the dark direction his mind was taking.

_Just what is so special about her, my friend? Why should you not indulge? She will not stop you if you try…she is young in the way of such things and ripe for the plucking. _

Involuntarily, his eyes followed Asleena's passage to where the horses were picketed. She found one of the large brushes designed to strap over the hand and began to rub her gelding down—not even doing it properly, he noticed with disgust. Without stopping to think of the consequences, he rose and went over to her, scowling.

"Not like that," he said brusquely. "Did I teach you nothing? Here."

Moving behind her, he covered her right hand with his own and guided it along the horse's flank.

"Like this," he murmured by her ear, pitching his voice low, and he felt a shiver betray her.

Maker's breath, but she smelled marvellous. The combination of quality leather and healthy sweat, the scent of her hair and the lingering tartness of blood…

_Ah, yes, blood…returning like an old friend. Remember the thrill of the chase? She has led us a merry one, has she not? And now the chase ends…and we come to the kill. _

_Shall we teach our lovely Grey Warden how to ride an Antivan stallion?_

"Zev?" Asleena said, a quiet warning in her voice. "What are you doing?"

Zevran froze, his lips hovering near the pale skin of her neck. What _was _he doing?

_Seducing her…no?_

He released her like she'd suddenly become white-hot and stepped back.

_Taliesen was right. You've gone soft._

He stepped back again and looked anywhere but at her, clearing his throat. "I…think you get the idea," he said. "Move the brush in circles. You can…handle it yourself now, I believe."

_Smooth, Zevran_, the inner voice mocked as he fled her presence. _Very smooth._


	31. What You Are

_Author's Note: This chapter involves some mild(?) smut and dark themes. I apologise for the lateness, as it proved...a bit difficult for me to write and there were several false starts and re-attempts. Even now it doesn't completely satisfy me, but I hope it is well-received regardless and I didn't want to keep people waiting any longer.  
_

_On another note, a big 'thanks!' yet again to everyone who's been following The Hunt, and especially the reviewers. It has been wonderful to read what people think of how things are going lately and your ideas and reasonings behind what you believe/hope should happen between characters and why. Thank you. :_)

* * *

Trees whipped past. Zevran didn't know which direction he was running in, only that it was _away_. Roots reached up to snag his boots and trip him, branches grasped at his clothes, armour and hair like claws, like the past, trying to drag him back and reclaim him.

_This is what you are, Zevran! This is what you always will be!_

* * *

_Nails pierced Zevran's back and buttocks as he moved with lithe grace atop the slender, curving body beneath him. Sun-bronzed fingers traversed familiar territory, seeking the places he knew she was powerless before, and a pleased smile crossed his face as she arched into his caresses, gasping his name. He responded by pressing his lips to the soft angle of her throat and shoulder, hot breath and searing kisses trailing a path of fire down her already sensitised flesh._

This time _he would defeat her. He knew all her tricks by now, had learned every move and moan—_

_A slender hand glided down the muscles of his chest, down between their bodies where they were joined…warm lips brushed his ear and whispered._

_Zevran gasped in surprise, cursed under his breath as his body thrust deeply forward, and shuddered as he lost control._

_Soft laughter tickled his ear as his heart slowed from a thunder._

"_I win again, hm?"_

"_My dear Rinna," he replied, trying with all his might to sound perfectly at ease and not in the least that he was, at present, as helpless as a newborn kitten, "if losing to you is always going to be this enjoyable, I will be happy to continue doing so."_

_She chuckled again, a soft and contented sound. "Liar."_

_If he was honest with himself, it wasn't_ _a _complete_ lie. It was enjoyable, yes, imminently pleasurable, yes, and there was an unaccustomed feeling of repleteness after such episodes, something he didn't normally associate with sex. But he was who he was, Zevran Arainai, consummate lover, and the thought of someone, _anyone_, who could dominate him so easily and so often plagued his mind, buzzing incessantly like a fly trapped behind a windowpane._

_It was a joke! Every time he thought he had her…_

_He rolled on to his side on the bed and looked at her, openly admiring as she shifted her body to face him. Gorgeous, graceful, and ah…such curves. Beauty she had in abundance, and while he appreciated such superficial splendour it was not beauty alone that kept his attention…_

_Lips curved gently, sweetly, as she smiled at him. Something in his stomach fluttered uncomfortably as she reached out, fingers caressing his brow and brushing a blond lock away from his eyes. "Still trying to figure it out?" she murmured._

_He caught her hand and looked at her with frustration glittering in his eyes, but could not help smiling back. "How do you do it?"_

_She grinned impishly. "It's a secret. I told you, you have to figure it out yourself."_

"_Well, then…" He turned her hand over, bringing it to his lips to kiss the inside of her wrist. "I suppose we will have to try again. It seems I am a very slow learner, no?"_

"_You think you can last all night, Zev?" she teased, then yelped and laughed as he pulled her to him, twisting her around so she faced away and he pressed hungrily into her back._

"_My dear Rinna," he said quietly, nimble fingers already beginning a new exploration up her shivering body. "_That _sounded like a challenge…"_

* * *

_Taliesen eyed the folded piece of parchment Zevran handed him. "What's this, then?"_

"_You have to open it," Zevran explained patiently, grinning. "And then you have to read it."_

_The human assassin sighed loudly, put his boots up on one of the many low tables in the room and did as bidden. "'Your bid has been accepted,'" he read aloud. "Great, congratulations, _what bid_?"_

_Zevran told him and Taliesen blinked, sat up straight then leaned across the table._

"_You, my friend, are mental," he said. "That is a crazy job. Whatever master gave you this gave you a sodding death warrant."_

_Zevran laughed loudly. "Does that mean you don't want to be on my team this time, old friend? Think of it! I have been wanting something like this for years, and when we pull it off not even the masters will be able to deny how ridiculously awesome we are."_

"_Wake up, Zevran!" Taliesen retorted, but the gleam of interest shone in his eyes. "You go swanking around all the time announcing to all who will listen, whether they want to or not, that you are _the _best Crow, killer and lover extraordinaire. It was only a matter of time until someone higher up called you on that." He waved the parchment before the elf's eyes and dropped it. "How much did you bid, anyway?"_

"_Only twenty-five percent, and that is the point," Zevran said as Taliesen gave him a look of utter disbelief. "I don't care about the fortune. Not for this one. I want the recognition! I _am _the best, everyone here knows it, and I want to bring you along with me." He grinned. "What do you say?"_

_Taliesen rubbed his chin, shook his head then grinned back. "I still say you're mental. But all right. I'm with you."_

_Zevran nodded once and leaned back with a satisfied smile, but his head turned when he heard a familiar laugh. Rinna had entered the room. She was all the way over the other side, exchanging pleasantries with another Crow, but the faintest waft of her voice on the air and he heard. Why was that? She glanced in his direction and saw him looking at her, and while she was clever enough not to make some overt gesture of familiarity, she _did _smile._

"_What's going on there?" Taliesen asked with amused interest, studying his companion._

_Zevran, who had been smiling without even realising it, held his expression firmly and looked from Rinna to Taliesen. "Wrapped around my little finger," he said._

"_Someone is, I daresay." Zevran scoffed at this, but Taliesen only smirked at him. "Flavour of the month? You used to have flavours of the _day_, Zev. _Several _flavours of the day. Remember that Winter night in Nevarra, the Sigil Blessed? How many was it?"_

"_Eight."_

"_I thought it was nine."_

_Zevran grinned. "I don't count the guardsman. He passed out before we really got started."_

"_Oh, right, that. My point is that if I've noticed something, you can bet your sweet elven arse that others are taking note."_

_Zevran rolled his eyes. "There is nothing to notice, Taliesen," he said in a bored voice, but an inexplicable fear tingled in his blood. "Or rather, there is plenty to notice," he corrected himself. "Long legs, dark hair, a truly magnificent bosom…"_

"_Not my type," Taliesen said with a wink._

"_In fact, I think I'll ask her to be on the team."_

"_Really? Rinna?"_

"_Can you give me a good reason why not?" Zevran invited, spreading his arms and raising a brow. "She is an excellent bladeswoman, good with a bow, knows her poisons and locks, and I have teamed up with her before several times."_

"_No doubt." Taliesen shrugged. "It's your contract, Zev. If you think you can talk her into it—"_

"_Just watch," Zevran said, standing. "She will do anything for me. Like I said…wrapped around my little finger."_

_Taliesen chuckled and settled back to watch. "More the fool her, eh?"_

* * *

_The weather was humid. It always was in Antiva. Zevran stood at the window of the upper floor of an old warehouse, back to the wooden wall and counting under his breath as he peered at a distant rooftop with the aid of a spyglass._

"_No more guards than we were expecting," he mused quietly, lowering the qunari device. He grinned over his shoulder. "Evidently they don't want us to know that they know we're coming."_

"_Or there _is _no leak," Rinna said impatiently. "Taliesen's source could be wrong."_

"_No, my dear," Zevran disagreed, "he has been reliable in the past and something is definitely rotten around here. Besides, I did not land a contract this much fun just to get shot because I decided to ignore the warnings. Until we know more, we sit tight."_

"_How long is he going to be?"_

"_As long as it takes." He chuckled when she made an aggravated sound, pulled away from the window and stowed the spyglass carefully in a leather case. "What is the matter, Rinna? You are acting as high-strung as a mare in heat."_

_She made a face at him. "I just expected to see some action by now. Instead we're cooped up in a building that smells like cat piss while Taliesen gets to skulk around digging up all the dirt!"_

_Zevran laughed and walked towards her, eyes gleaming. "You want some action, do you?"_

"_That depends…" She leaned against a wooden support, clasped her hands behind her head and fixed him with an arch, knowing smile. "Does it involve dirt?"_

"_My dear Rinna…" Fingers roamed lazily over her shoulders and down her leather-armoured spine while lips pressed hot and hungry to the exposed flesh of her throat. "Does it not…" A playful nip administered to the lobe of one pointed ear. "…_always_…" Hands seized and lifted, his lean body pinning hers to the timber. "…involve dirt?"_

_Her legs and arms had instinctively wrapped around him for balance, and one of Zevran's hands slid a long caress up her bare thigh, all the way up beneath the leather skirt she wore. She gasped softly, arching, fingernails digging into his hair and nape._

…_and the door opened._

"_Are you two at it again?" Taliesen said in mock-disgust. "Can I not leave you alone for half an hour?"_

"_You can leave us alone for _two_ hours," Zevran suggested, nuzzling Rinna's neck without looking around. He paused, considering, then amended: "Maybe three."_

_Rinna grinned at the human over Zevran's shoulder. "Jeeaaaalous?"_

"_Oh, of course," Taliesen said with a wide smirk. "Next time _you _can do the running around, Legs, and leave Zev to me. What have you got that I don't?"_

_Zevran pressed a languid kiss to the swell of Rinna's breasts. "I can name a couple of things, Taliesen." _

"_Hah…well, if it comes to that, _I _have a couple of things she don't…Including, you know…" Here he cupped both hands around his mouth: "That information we've been trying to wrangle for two days now."_

_Zevran sighed and let Rinna down with a regretful smile. "Business, alas, calls."_

"_Not a moment too soon, either," Taliesen said. "Go watch the front door, Rinna. Could be wrong, but I think someone was casing the place. Brown cloak, red hair, big sword. "_

"_I'm on it. Fill me in later, Zev?"_

"_In more ways than one," Zevran promised, and she was away._

_Taliesen looked at his companion silently until the sound of the door closing came to their ears, then he shook his head. "If you two were any more attached to each other, we'd need surgery to pry you apart."_

_Zevran laughed. "You _are _jealous."_

"_Get over yourself, Zev. I'm not sentimental enough to get jealous, I just wish she'd share once in a while." Taliesen cast a quick glance out over the warehouse floor and lowered his voice. "Just how attached to her are you? Honestly, now."_

"_Not at all. We have our fun, but that is all it is. One of us will tire of the other sooner or later, that is the way of such things, but I intend to keep enjoying her for as long as the relationship is…amicable."_

"_Good to hear. I had to ask, Zev. Couldn't look past the chance you were in on it with her."_

_Zevran's eyes narrowed. "In on what?"_

_Taliesen's voice became quieter still, his face serious. "She's the leak, Zev. Rinna. Garos saw her taking a bribe from one of our mark's agents."_

"_Really." Zevran smiled, but something deep inside him went very still._

"_You know the deal with the Crows. We succeed, the House gets its cut, we get ours. Word is Rinna's asked our target to make a counter-offer and got a sweet deal. She turns on us at the right moment, sticks a proverbial and literal knife in our backs, receives a good bag of gold and skips Antiva free, the Crows thinking she died with us." Taliesen snorted. "Little bitch thinks she can play us? Us?"_

"_Play 'me', more likely," Zevran suggested, the words seeming to come from very far away. "She thinks she has me eating out of the palm of her hand."_

_And he had been, like a stupid mark, brought to the edge of being fooled and exploited because of his damned fascination with her. Evidence of Rinna's betrayal was unnecessary—this, this right here was the bald truth that she was a threat, that she _could _do this to him whenever she chose. Sentimentality, feelings, attachment, trust, call it what you like, you didn't give any of that to _anyone_ or they could ruin you just by knowing you too well. That was why 'friend' was just a word amongst the Crows, tossed about carelessly without meaning or emotion, its only purpose to get someone else to lower _their_ guard towards _you_ a little more, to give you the edge._

_Just a word…_

_Just like 'love'._

"_We have to kill her, you know. She's betrayed the Crows." _

_The human was watching him closely. Zevran nodded his assent. "You can do the honours, Taliesen, so long as I get to kiss her goodbye first."_

_There was an appreciative chuckle and a smirk. "You always did like to give them a nice send-off. You asked for three hours, I believe?"_

_Zevran shook his head. "Make it ten minutes. She is a traitor, Taliesen, not a mark."_

"_I'll send her up and see you in a bit, then we can get a move-on on this contract."_

_Taliesen slipped from the room and Zevran went to the window, staring blindly out into the afternoon brightness. _

Just another pretty face,_ he told himself as the seconds ticked past. _Just another woman…she has nothing over me, and I will prove it to myself before she dies.

_He sheathed his heart with ice and waited, an assassin ready for the kill, fully aware of what failure to do the deed would cost him. When she returned to the room his years of training and experience were in full control. He was composed and ready._

"_I got him, Zev," she reported without preamble. "Taliesen went to look for—"_

_She got no further. Zevran crossed the floor in a swift stride and pinned her hard against the wall, his mouth taking hers demandingly. She made a sound of surprise but didn't struggle out of his embrace._

Foolish. You trust me too much. I will not make that mistake with you.

"_Zev," she managed breathlessly when he let her up for air and began tearing her armour off. "What are you doing?"_

_He chuckled softly and murmured his reply: "Seducing you…no?"_

"_But what did Tal—" She was interrupted by another kiss. "What did Talies—" And another. "What'd he s—" She gave up as his lips and tongue and teeth found a new target below her neckline and tilted her head back against the wooden paling with a groan. "Sod it," she whispered hoarsely. "I'll guess it was good news."_

_He did not let her remove his armour, and Rinna did not complain. It was only practical that one of them remained armed on the job, after all, and if he wanted her naked then she'd be naked. But she was no fool. She realised something was amiss in the way he took her: hard, not gentle; aggressive, not seeking pleasure so much as some kind of satisfaction. She tried to reach him, but her caresses and whispers left him unmoved. He deafened himself to her voice and all but ignored her touch._

_This time…he defeated her. He rode her until she cried out in his arms, spent and completely his, then he let her slide from his grasp and collapse to the floor._

"_Zev?" she whispered, confused. "What's—"_

_She cried out again in pain as Taliesen suddenly appeared beside her, grabbing a handful of her long hair and pressing a blade to her throat. She didn't even try to evade or break free; her widening eyes fixed on Zevran as he hiked up his smallclothes with cool unconcern._

"_The Antivan Crows," Taliesen said tauntingly into Rinna's left ear, "send their regards."_

"_What?" Rinna repeated. She lifted a hand to try and push the blade away but Taliesen grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm behind her with less than gentle care. She whimpered with pain and confusion. "What are you going on about?"_

"_You betrayed us, Rinna," Zevran said, gazing down at her coldly, "and you know what we do with traitors."_

"_I…I what? I didn't betray anyone, least of all you! Zev, I…I _love _you, I couldn't betray you if I _wanted _to!"_

_Both men laughed. Zevran crouched down before the girl so he could grin straight into her face. "You love me?" he said with cruel tenderness. "Love is just a word, my dear, a word whores use to tempt their clients to return, and a word marks and traitors use to try and talk us out of killing them."_

"_It's true," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes. "I swear by Andraste's name, it's true! I love you and I would never betray you, not for anything."_

"_I don't care if it's true," Zevran said, laughing once more and reaching out to trace a familiar, lazy caress around one exposed breast. "Why should I?"_

_He stood again, staring contemptuously as Rinna simply gazed back at him, her eyes full of hope and cursed emotion, full of useless faith that her words meant something to him. It would have been better if she tried to run or make a grab for her blades, but she didn't. She just kept _watching _him like she expected him to come around, like she could not conceive the possibility he would ever willingly hurt her._

_He spat at her then to make her glance aside, to see her flinch and realise how wrong she was._

"_Zevran Arainai," she tried once more, tears tracking down her face and hands fisting on her knees where she knelt on the floor. "I love you. For so long, I've…" she swallowed, whimpering again as Taliesen's blade scratched her skin and blood welled. "I thought you…Please," she begged hoarsely. "Please don't kill me. I'll do anything you say, Zev, anything!"_

"_Maker's breath," Taliesen swore, and snorted his scorn. "She really is wrapped around your pinky, my friend. I'm sorry I doubted you."_

"_Please!"_

"_The Crows don't spare traitors," Zevran said curtly. "And you have nothing I want, Rinna. You die here."_

_Taliesen't blade cut swiftly and deeply in a horizontal line, enough to sever the windpipe and not much more. It was not a kind death, but betrayal and lies warranted no less. Taliesen retained his hold on Rinna's hair, keeping her head wrenched back so she was forced to stare at Zevran as she tried and failed to draw air into her lungs. _

_But she did not attempt to look away. Her eyes did not leave him, and her faith that he would somehow save her, even though she was now irrevocably beyond anyone's power to help, remained in her gaze even when life fled it._

* * *

_This is what you are! That is all she should be to you!_

Zevran's shoulder clipped a tree and he spun, dagger flashing into his hand. He stabbed at the trunk with a wild roar, sinking the blade into the wood. He would have pulled it free and attacked again in blind anger until he had no strength left, but the weapon had stuck, wedged in the trunk.

"No," he whispered to himself harshly, knuckles white around the hilt and forehead pressing to rough bark. "I am not going back…_I will not betray her trust._"

There was no reply—not that he'd really been talking to anyone.


	32. Influences

To Asleena, the cold of the morning air felt even deeper when Zevran pulled away, taking the taunting heat of his body with him. She remained where he'd left her, one hand fisted in the horse's mane and the other braced against its flank, the brush unmoving beneath her palm, her limbs frozen to immobility but invaded by a trembling she could not control. Fear and desire waged their internal battle and she closed her eyes amidst the conflict, drawing in a long breath that shuddered in her lungs.

_That was close._

She could stop him if he tried. That's what she'd always told herself. She was strong enough, physically. The yearning of her flesh for his warmth to return and embrace her told a completely different story about her strength, however. She suspected that if Zevran had continued, she would have let him…and not been thinking of Alistair at all until it was too late.

One part of her, the part that longed to be held and loved, did not care. It argued that Zevran had been here for her when no one else had been, done practically nothing untoward despite countless opportunities, even in the face of a desire demon's manipulations. He had saved her life and not only kept her good company, but made her forget her own doubts and unhappiness. Had she come this far alone, seeking Alistair, how long would it have been until she remembered how to laugh or smile? Zevran had made her _happy_. So, logically, why couldn't they be happy _together?_

The other part of her, that which held firm to all she believed and cherished, kept arguing it would be a fatal mistake to succumb. Her love for Alistair still burned deeply, and she _would_ still go after him. Even if she _didn't _love him she'd go after him because he was, if nothing else, her friend and a good man who deserved more than a bitter, self-imposed exile.

And Zevran deserved more than a divided heart.

Asleena's next breath was steady as her resolve gained the upper hand. She opened her eyes and stepped back from the horse, letting the brush fall atop one of the saddles. None of this changed the fact she still had to _talk_ to Zevran, preferably before they found Alistair and hence hopefully, before they reached Starkhaven. Except the assassin had made it plain he didn't want to talk.

_Oh, come on…Alistair probably doesn't want to talk and you're not going to let him brush you of, are you? Why should Zev be any different?_

"Asleena? Are you all right?"

She turned her head to look at Sindel's concerned face. The former Keeper's eyes flicked to Asleena's brow where the scar from last night's fight with the darkspawn lingered. "Great Protector, what happened?"

"Just a few scratches from an encounter last night," Asleena said reassuringly, deciding to leave out the fact it had been darkspawn and grateful she'd had enough time to recover that her voice wasn't shaking. Sindel still looked worried, though.

"We heard Zevran yell at you," the elf said, looking somewhat ashamed. "I didn't mean to listen in, but it sort of woke us up. I just wanted to see if you were all right."

Asleena glanced past her to where Galahan was re-lighting the campfire and sighed. The privacy of the camp seemed to have become a lot less private with two more people around. "I can't say I'm entirely happy," she admitted, "but we'll sort it out. I was thinking of going to look for him, once you and Galahan awoke." She hoped this would suffice. She didn't really want to go into detail on what had almost happened, mostly because it _hadn't _happened.

Sindel gave her a long look but apparently decided not to press the issue further. "I don't know how to help you with him," she said, "but I can heal your wounds."

The Warden smiled. "I appreciate it. And the concern. How are _you _holding up?"

"No better and no worse, I think," she replied, then wove her magic. Asleena felt a welcoming warmth as healing energy flowed through her. "In many ways…the memories hurt more than the corruption does."

"Talking about it might help," Asleena said, remembering Galahan's request and seizing on the opening. "If you want to ride with me today we could just…well, talk. About that, or about anything. Girl time, as my friend Leliana would say."

"Girl time?" Sindel smirked a bit and lifted one dark brow. "Like…talking about the men in our lives and how incredibly frustrating they can be?"

Asleena grinned. "We can swap stories. Giggle. That sort of thing."

That got a laugh. "Do you know," Sindel said, smiling, "I think I'd like that. But for now, I'd better help Galahan prepare breakfast." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "He's wonderful at cooking meat, but anything else turns out lumpy or burnt."

"Remind me to tell you about Alistair's attempts to toast bread and cheese over an open fire later on."

They both sniggered a bit, then, as one woman, walked grinning to the campfire. Galahan was sitting there, a pot in hand. He glanced up as they approached, took in their indecently smug expressions and immediately looked suspicious. Sindel plonked herself down next to him and, without warning, leaned over and kissed him full on the lips.

Looking slightly _more_ suspicious, Galahan asked, "What was that for?"

"For being you."

Asleena glanced away, smiling to herself and hurting just a bit inside as Sindel kissed her beloved again, a bit more lingeringly this time. No wonder her friends had always made comments whenever she and Alistair embraced in public. It was damned inconsiderate really, kissing in front of other people and being so shamelessly happy.

Repressing a sigh she crouched before Ferrix, who sat up and watched her.

"You love me, right boy?" she asked wistfully.

Ferrix barked, then he licked her from chin to brow.

"Good to know," Asleena said, wiping her face and ignoring the laughter of the elves. "You're with me. We've got an assassin to track down." She looked at Galahan and Sindel. "Will you two be all right for a little bit?"

"Yes," Galahan confirmed, but his brow had furrowed. "Are you sure about going after Zevran, though? I could find him for you."

The offer was plain, and she considered it seriously. Galahan was a neutral party and Zevran would have no reason to snap at him. The hunter might even be able to calm him down, like he had for her last night. However…she'd _prefer _to sort things out with Zevran herself, not use an intermediary. It might not be wise considering the almost-events of this morning, but there it was.

"Thanks, but no. Ferrix and I will handle it."

At her gesture, the mabari headed out of the clearing and into the forest, following whatever trail Zevran had left in his hasty departure. Asleena followed and behind her, unseen, the Dalish exchanged worried glances.

* * *

Zevran heard the rustle of movement in the undergrowth, something four-legged moving towards his position fast. Blinking a few times as the noise pulled him from his reverie, he released the dagger stuck in the tree and drew his sword with a silent motion, turning his body so his back was to the trunk and blade poised. Nothing had disturbed him until now. Tree branches and lush foliage had swayed and whispered at the commands of the wind, not of animals or darkspawn.

There was a snuffling noise, then Ferrix's head appeared around the trunk. At the sight of Zevran he barked once, happily, then turned tail and galloped away.

"Zevran?" Asleena's voice called from some way off.

As though things hadn't been hard enough without her actually _being _here. Zevran remained unmoving, wondering what to do. It was moderately gratifying that she'd come after him at all, considering. The smart option, the _easy _option, would have been to stay at camp and wait for him to come slinking back, or pack up and leave him to his demons. But maybe she'd had enough. Maybe she was going to tell him to leave this time. Should he hope for that outcome or dread it?

He sheathed his sword and stepped out of concealment. "Here I am."

She was still a distance away, half-visible through some trees and ferns as she followed Ferrix, but it wasn't long before she'd picked a path to where he stood. She stopped out of arm's reach, the warhound sinking to his haunches beside her with tongue lolling out in apparently blissful ignorance at the issues between his biped companions.

Asleena's face did not look closed-off as Zevran would have expected had he been in store for a dismissal from her company. Rather, she looked determined, which was somehow worse. It meant she was after discourse, and she did not intend to be flicked off again as she had been earlier that morning.

"Talk to me," the Grey Warden said. "Or yell at me. Whichever you prefer."

"I could never raise my voice to you, my dear lady—"

She cut him off. "You came very close. It's strange in a way…all this time I was thinking you never _could _get upset or confused. You always come across as being so _in control_ of yourself. I've never seen you angry, not really, and I've never seen you cry."

"Such emotion is not safe for assassins," Zevran replied. "We _must _be in control of ourselves, always, or we are open to all kinds of exploitation."

"What other emotions are unsafe for assassins?" she asked, cocking her head.

"I…" He gave her a helpless look. She could be brutally direct when she chose to be.

"Those boots and gloves, Zev," she went on when he couldn't continue, "were offerings of friendship. They were things that held no importance to me personally, but keepsakes I thought you might like after hearing some of your stories. That earring," she continued relentlessly, "is not a token of thanks. You said it holds personal value to you, and no one gives away something that important unless it has meaning attached."

It took all his self-control not to shrink back before the challenge in her voice or try to deflect the conversation to safer streets. "What if…it was… a token of affection?" he asked hesitantly.

"_If _it was that…" Asleena paused before continuing, picking her words with care, "I imagine I would be flattered. Honoured. Sad…that I couldn't accept it with a clear conscience, things being as they are. " Her calm façade wavered slightly as her next words came with both more difficulty and emotion. "And I would hope…that my dear friend would understand why I said 'no'."

Zevran swallowed hard and nodded. What that meant for the future he didn't know and did not wish to ask. They had already had that particular discussion in the Vimmark, and he found himself oddly content with the answer she had given at the time. It would suffice.

"I understand," he said at last, quietly, "and I apologise for my behaviour. You asked for none of this and I promised I would respect your wishes. I almost broke that oath and…and I almost did you great wrong, I fear."

"But you didn't."

"The last woman I had any care for," he persisted, thinking perhaps he had not impressed the inherent danger he felt she was in, "I betrayed, humiliated and saw murdered in cold blood, all because I…I was a coward. How do you know I will not do the same to you?"

She met his eyes with simple faith. "Because you told me you regretted it."

"That is no assurance," he countered, feeling his anger kindle, though at her words or her expression he couldn't tell. "That is not _knowing_."

Asleena frowned. "If you want to argue semantics, then fine. I don't _know _you won't do to me as you did to Rinna; I _believe _you won't, Zevran Arainai, because I _believe _you don't want to be that man anymore. Why would you go back? Do you want to?"

"No! I…I want to go _forward_, to start afresh. I simply do not know _how_." Zevran took a calming breath and tried to explain. "When I went to Ferelden, after what happened with Rinna, I was looking for a final mission that would lead to my death. The masters had not punished me for what had happened, and so I sought penance for myself.

"The contract for the surviving Grey Wardens came and I took it. Even with the legendary skills of your order it was not difficult for me to find others for my team—many jumped at the chance, in fact. My last mission had been a grand success," he said with certain bitterness, "the reputation mine and Taliesen's, and other Crows were eager to share in the fame of downing a fabled Grey Warden. None of them knew that I meant for that mission to fail." He made an inelegant sound. "A simple ambush on the road against an armed party? Does that truly seem like a tactic I would use?"

"Actually, now that you mention it, no."

"Quite right. Forgive me for saying so, but for a beautiful woman such as yourself, seduction would _definitely _have been my first choice."

"And possibly your last." She gave him a withering look. "What was your point?"

"I never expected to survive that," Zevran said. "I thought death would make it all better. It usually does, no? But you spared my life when I had thought justice would decree otherwise.

"And now, here I am. By your side I have done things and fought in battles I consider _worthy_, and I have been proud to be a part of that. If I were to leave your company, I have little doubts I would make my living as an assassin. No," he said, raising a hand when Asleena opened her mouth to object, "it is true, I know it is. It is what I am best at. After Queen Anora's coronation, when I made my offer to travel on with you, it was, in part, because I…I _believed _I could do greater things with you, _worthier _things. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"Zev, don't think I'm trying to get rid of you by saying this, but what makes you think you couldn't do great things on your own?"

"Because," he replied quietly, not breaking eye-contact with her, "being in your company gives me reason to try."

She looked humbled, if a little sad at his words. "Thank you, Zevran," she said. "I'm touched…truly."

A short silence fell and Zevran, trying not to appear uncomfortable, made for a normal tone of voice before saying, "Come. Enough talk. Let us return to camp, hm? A new day awaits, and a good breakfast would not go amiss before we head onwards to Starkhaven."

Asleena smiled slightly, nodded and spoke a word to Ferrix which sent the mabari trotting back the way they'd come. The Warden waited where she stood for Zevran to reach her side and then, together, they followed after.


	33. Thinking Ahead

_Author's Note: Thanks for your patience, readers, and your wonderful comments. :) Things will be picking up in pace again very very soon. Incidentally, you may now place your bets on the outcome of the Joining..._

* * *

Near the end of that day they forded a wide branch of the Minanter River, and halfway through the next they reached the top of a forested ridge that overlooked Starkhaven.

The Circle Tower was of an architecture unfamiliar to Asleena, squat and utilitarian rather than graceful, and it jutted up from the massive crag that dominated the valley so smoothly that it was, at first glance, hard to discern where natural rock ended and hewn stone began. The weathered structure was a dull brown, and growths of plant life sprouted from it with such profusion that the building could have been likened to a gigantic tree stump. Sprawled around the base of the crag was not so much a city as a collection of villages, smatterings of log cabins and the occasional stone manor.

"We will reach it early tomorrow," Galahan said as the party paused to take in the scene from their vantage point. He slid down from the halla and murmured something to it, then bowed. The halla almost seemed to incline its horned head in return before trotting back into the forest. "Much of the trade in this area revolves around hunting and trapping," Galahan went on, returning his attention to the scattered settlements. "Poachers would be upon us quickly if we brought a halla near."

"Even with all of us around?" Asleena asked.

"I prefer not to tempt fate."

"It would be like walking into a cheap side of town wearing expensive silk and jewels," Zevran said thoughtfully. "But if there are poachers here, I am surprised the Dalish have not exterminated them by now."

Galahan smiled grimly and pointed towards the hulking tower. "You shouldn't be."

"Will you two be able to keep your instincts under control while we're here?" Asleena asked, looking from Galahan to Sindel, the latter of whom was riding double with her.

"We will follow your lead, Warden," Sindel said, and Galahan nodded his assent.

"Let me know if something's really upsetting you and I'll see what we can do. Priority, though, is getting to the tower and having the Joining prepared."

The elves all nodded. Sindel's condition had not visibly worsened, but with the former Keeper perched in the saddle right in front of Asleena it had been almost frighteningly easy to feel the creeping spread of the Taint in her body. The Grey Warden had not mentioned this to any of her companions and maintained an optimistic outlook, doing her part to keep Sindel engaged in conversation.

For the most part it had been quite easy. She and Sindel had travelled at a distance behind the men and both had chattered away quite happily. In fact, Asleena couldn't remember the last time she'd spoken so freely and cheerfully on certain subjects since being in Leliana's company, and before the Landsmeet of course. There had been a great deal of giggling, more serious confidences shared, and Asleena hadn't realised how much she'd missed simple female companionship until now. She almost felt like her old self at times, and wondered how different a woman Sindel had been before inheriting her mentor's role as Keeper in times of pain, then being taken by the darkspawn.

Her close conversations with the elven woman had kept her apart from any discussions that went on between Zevran and Galahan, and she could only guess at what the two men had been speaking of. There had been occasional bouts of laughter, but not nearly as many as from Sindel and Asleena. Asleena found it a bit worrying, but neither man gave any indication that their stance towards one another was anything but cordial.

"We are down to two horses then," Zevran observed, and grinned slyly at Galahan. "You can always ride double with me, my friend. Do you prefer being in front or behind?"

Galahan smirked a little, faster on the uptake than Asleena herself, who rolled her eyes when she caught the double meaning behind the 'generous offer'. No matter which option Galahan picked, Zevran would have _some _remark to follow up with, and probably some subtle gymnastics in the saddle to boot.

"In fact, it would be safer if we all walked from here," Galahan said. "You will have to lead the horses."

"If we're dismounting anyway," Asleena said, helping Sindel down before she followed, "we might as well stop and eat something first, and give the animals a break and a drink. Is it always so hot this far north?"

Zevran swung out of his saddle with nimble ease. "If you think this is hot," he replied, "you should visit Antiva some time. Hot and wet every day of the year…and I am just speaking of the weather," he added with another wicked smile.

After a brief rest, they continued onwards on foot. Galahan and Zevran, having the keener eyes and better sense for untainted danger, took point with Ferrix in attendance. Sindel and Asleena followed with the horses, picking up their last conversation like it had only ended seconds ago.

"So there he was," Asleena said, "the bread is literally on fire by now, cheese is dripping _everywhere_, and he just starts waving it around in the air"—she gesticulated wildly for emphasis—"and trying to blow it out!"

"Did he manage it?" Sindel asked, wiping her eyes and grinning.

Asleena laughed harder. "No, he just made it burn faster! And then the sandwich flew off the stick and landed on my leg." She winced. "Melted cheese _really hurts _when it's hot and on fire. I had to go to Wynne later for a spot of healing. Trying to explain how I got minor burns from cheese drippings and toast wasn't the most heroic point of my adventuring life."

Sindel laughed. "I hope he got a good talking to for getting you hurt!"

"Oh, he did. Wynne spoke _very _sternly to him. And Zevran said…" Here she put on her best impression of the Antivan's voice, "'I do hope you intend to make it up to the lady, my friend. Might I suggest starting by kissing the burns better? They were on her left thigh, no?' Poor Alistair looked like he wished the earth would just swallow him whole."

"He _did _apologise, though?"

"Later, when everyone had stopped teasing him. Actually, I went to his tent make sure _he _was all right…I felt so sorry for him. He babbled something about hoping I'd forgive him for being such an idiot, hugged me, kissed me, and…" She stopped suddenly and grinned. "Well…it got a bit steamy after that."

"What's it like?" Sindel asked hesitantly.

"Being with someone?" Asleena thought for a moment. How did you explain it to someone whose only experience of the act was violent abuse? "With Alistair it was…always wonderful. Sensitive, passionate and often quite playful. It could be a lot of fun," she confessed, smiling. "There were times when I felt…completely weak and vulnerable. But at the same time I always felt completely secure…like, while I was in his arms, nothing else in the world could touch me. Thedas could burn, but I would be safe."

The elven woman was silent, and then, in a small voice: "I'd give anything to feel that."

"You will," Asleena assured her gently, giving her an encouraging smile. "When you're ready."

For a minute or so, they walked in silence. The wordless sounds of whatever discussion Galahan and Zevran were having could be heard from up ahead.

"Can Zevran cook?" Sindel asked after a while.

"Really well, actually. He once told me fine cuisine is practically a _requirement_ if you want to excel in the arts of seduction." Asleena grinned. "I think it was always a challenge for him coming up with new and exotic ways to prepare what foodstuffs we had, then convincing us to try and eat whatever he produced." She laughed, remembering something. "Oh, and it had to be _served _properly too—had to look pretty and have a garnish."

"A garnish?

"A little sprig of some herb or a slice of fruit. A decoration, really."

"How strange." Sindel sounded puzzled. "Why would you want to make food look pretty when it's the taste and quantity that matters?"

"Maybe it's just supposed to impress people by how much effort it took?"

Sindel considered this. "When Galahan wants to impress me with food," she said, "he hunts it down himself, skins it, cuts it up, wraps the choicest parts in leaves with tubers and vegetables and roasts them all under hot coals until the juices seep through."

"All right, that's pretty impressive. Can you make him do that tonight?"

Sindel giggled. "Probably, yes. It will…it might be our last night together." She bit her lip. "What will you do, Asleena, if Alistair doesn't return to Ferelden with you?"

"I don't know. Run home to my big brother and ask him to make it all better?"

"What about Zevran?" she asked in a softer voice.

Asleena sighed quietly. "I _really _don't know." She'd been trying not to think about it, unsuccessfully at that. She felt dirty for thinking of the Antivan as someone to 'fall back on'. Zevran had pretty much laid his feelings bare for her, as much as he was able to anyway, and the idea of bedding him just to get over Alistair was fundamentally _wrong. _In the end she surmised that it all might depend on just how far the emotions would fly when she faced Alistair.

An emotionally distraught woman could be a reckless, dangerous and hurtful creature.

* * *

By dint of their skills of observation and survival instincts, Zevran and Galahan had become the delegated forerunners for the little party. To the assassin's mild surprise, Galahan had proved himself to be passable company. Initially he'd resigned himself to long stretches of silence and serious, if not downright cryptic conversation, but the Dalish elf had only fallen quiet when specifically wanting to listen, and while he did have the occasional odd turn of phrase or comment he was, in general, fun to fence with. Zevran usually took considerable delight in shocking his companions, finding that his career as a skilled killer and his prowess as an accomplished lover tended to make even the most stoic of souls uncomfortable, but Galahan took everything in stride.

"You are a killer of sorts," Zevran said as they walked between the trees. "You enjoy it, do you not?"

"I enjoy the hunt more than the kill," Galahan said. "The chase is what requires skill, being able to track the prey down and get it in my sights. Once I have a bead on my target I already know I have won. Often I choose to let a prize go if it is particularly wily."

"Do you not tire of picking off your prey at a distance—if you kill it at all? Close combat is where it is _exciting_. The struggle, the twisting press of bodies, the sweat and wordless cries…much like making love, no?"

"I take it you _do _enjoy it."

"Which? Hand to hand fighting or making love?" Zevran smiled slowly. "Either way, the answer is a resounding 'yes'. You have…never sampled the latter? Never knocked boots, as the saying goes?"

"I have been with a woman before."

"_A _woman?" Zevran echoed, emphasizing the singular. "Considering your views on the subject, dare I ask if you were married to the lady in question?"

"We were not wed. She was human for one thing, and I had not yet earned my vallaslin."

"How deliciously scandalous," the Antivan murmured, watching his companion with new interest. "A Dalish elf not even acknowledged a grown man with a human lover. Do speak on, my friend, I am eager to hear the whole sordid story. It is…not a secret, is it?"

"If you mean to ask if Sindel knows the tale, she does." Galahan shook his head. "But you will have to forgive me if I speak no further of it to you. For now, at least."

"Oh?"

"I would require something in return, a personal story."

Zevran grinned. "But I have told you many stories."

"All of things you were more or less proud of," Galahan said, smiling slightly. "Call it a bargaining chip. A piece of my life that shames me for a piece of yours."

"Hm." Zevran adopted an intrigued smile. "I will consider your offer, but for now I prefer more pleasant subjects than brooding on past mistakes, even for so tantalising a tale as what you offer."

"As you wish, but don't delay too long. I might not be alive this time tomorrow."

"Ah, yes, the Joining. Does it frighten you, the chance of dying?"

"I am not keen to die." Galahan's brow furrowed. "But I fear death more if it would mean leaving Sindel alone. She would grieve, and I can't stand the thought of causing her pain."

"You could simply not go through with it," Zevran pointed out. "I am no Grey Warden, yet I travel with one."

"I have considered it. When I spoke to Alistair about becoming a Warden he told me all sorts of side effects to try and dissuade me. He told me the Joining could kill, it would reduce my lifespan, it would reduce the chances of having children with my beloved."

Zevran, who had not been aware of that last one, said nothing.

"If Sindel had not become corrupted, I would not have pursued it any further. But now…" The Dalish elf's face hardened and steel entered his voice. "Being a Grey Warden will allow me to more effectively hunt those things that hurt my love, and those that would do the same to others." He glanced at Zevran, and an unmistakable light burned in the hunter's green eyes. "They are the kills I anticipate enjoying: the ones that will feel righteous."

Remembering what Xai Merras had told him in Markham City about the circumstances surrounding Rinna's death, Zevran nodded slowly. "Yes," he said. "That feeling I can well understand."

When the party stopped for the night and he finally had time to speak with Asleena alone, he decided he would finally bring the subject up with her. No matter how things worked out with Alistair tomorrow, when it was over they would be returning south and there would be little point in bringing up a detour to Antiva once they were travelling in the opposite direction.

But first, he still wanted to ask about things she had done on behalf of other companions.

"It occurred to me," he said when they were sitting opposite each other at the campfire, "you never did say why Morrigan vanished so abruptly before the siege."

"You wanted to talk about Morrigan?" she asked, surprised, but then she shrugged. "She wanted something from Loghain, he wasn't willing to give it to her and I told Morrigan I wasn't going to command him. She got upset over it and left."

"My dear…you are being evasive. You do still trust me, yes?"

Asleena sighed. "I'm sorry. It touches on Grey Warden secrets. Look—" She stopped, glanced at Galahan and Sindel's tent, then got up and walked around the fire to sit right next to Zevran, almost but not quite touching. "You won't repeat this to anyone, will you?" she asked, speaking low and frowning at him.

"You have my word."

"Remember how I told you that no one has ever killed an archdemon and lived? Well, Morrigan came to me and said she _had _a way. It would involve sleeping with a Grey Warden, one who hadn't been tainted long, and the use of dark magic. She wanted Loghain for this."

"Kinky," Zevran said, a practically automatic response, then grimaced at Asleena's expression. "Ah…sorry. Loghain declined Morrigan's delightful offer then?"

"Yes, but you didn't hear the worst of it. The rite would have made Morrigan pregnant, and she claimed this child would be able to absorb the essence of the archdemon when it was slain, sparing the Grey Warden that felled it." She paused. "It's the Taint in us that allows us to end the Blight, Zev. Riordan told us, Loghain and me. It's why we needed more Grey Wardens."

"Then the child would have been killed instead of whoever struck the final blow?" Zevran asked, fascinated and not a little appalled, but Asleena shook her head.

"Both Grey Warden and baby would survive. Morrigan said that the Taint in the child would be nullified or something, and it would end up with the uncorrupted soul of an Old God. What she planned to _do _with it I have no idea." Asleena looked troubled. "I…had my fears, though. I mean, you remember what she said Flemeth claimed to have in store for her."

"Take over her body, yes?" Zevran nodded. "I remember. That is why you killed the old witch, is it not?"

"Yes," she said readily, if quietly. "At Morrigan's behest. I didn't even _have _to, Zev. Flemeth offered to give me the very book Morrigan was after if it meant we'd leave her alone, but…I really believed Morrigan would be in danger if we let Flemeth live. Now I have to wonder how much danger Morrigan herself will be, with so much of Flemeth's knowledge to hand." She looked away, at the fire. "I even wonder if she truly considered me a friend, or if she was just using me. She did leave as soon as I stopped agreeing to give her what she wanted."

Zevran considered the woman sitting beside him, momentarily distracted from where he'd wanted to take the conversation. Why hadn't he just gone straight to the point?

"I had a request I wished to present to you," he said, "and I will not leave if you say no, so please hear me out. I have never asked a favour of you before."

Asleena nodded slowly. "I'm listening."

"There is a master assassin in Antiva I wish to kill, a Crow. I learned he planted the false information that led to Rinna's death, and with your expert assistance I believe I could repay him for that." He nodded northeast. "Antiva is not so much further away, if you were willing to delay returning to Ferelden a little longer."

"Or indefinitely?" Asleena stared at him. "Being attacked by the Crows is one thing, but going up against one of their masters without provocation? Wouldn't that be like declaring war on the guild?"

"Ah…" Zevran nodded, hiding his disappointment that she hadn't straight away pledged her support. "Political repercussions against the Grey Wardens, of course. Say no more."

"It's not just that, Zev. You walking back into Antiva? That's a death trap." She put a hand to his face and turned it, forcing him to meet her eyes. "You told me yesterday you wanted to go forwards, so listen: if you go to Antiva looking to kill someone, _anyone_, you're only going _back_. I won't watch that happen."

Before he could speak or even move, she had pulled away and risen to gaze down at him thoughtfully. "Why did this master set Rinna up?"

"Actually, it was setting _me _up," Zevran said. "I was to kill her, learn the truth, then kill myself. For glory, as our good friend Xai would say. It would have worked too, if you had not spared me."

"Do you think he'll ever come after you personally?"

Zevran tilted his head, studying her. "Anything is possible, my dear. What if he were to do something so foolish as that?"

She lifted both brows at him. "Well, I'd have to defend you, wouldn't I?" With a small grin and a nod goodnight, she paused to pat Ferrix before striding off to her tent. Zevran watched her go then chuckled under his breath and settled back to take the first watch, idly wondering what means he could use to lure his enemy out of hiding one day in the future.


	34. The Beginning of the End

_Author's Note: Mystialla - You are quite right about the elven language thing, thanks for nitpicking that (and the rest of the review, of course!). :) I will have to go back at some point and do some editing, since it won't really change much. DA:O has so much lore it's sometimes hard to keep track XD_

_Happy reading, all :)_

* * *

Before dawn, it had rained.

Zevran emerged from his tent to find everything damp, dripping and smelling of earth and leaves. Glancing around the campsite, empty but for the horses and Galahan, Zevran stretched widely and made a face as something wet and cold splashed into his hair from the overhanging branches. He was a city elf at heart, and while cities had their fair share of filth, dirt and seeping liquids, they also happened to have baths, hot water and accommodating body servants if one wanted to get clean. Or a different and much more pleasant kind of dirty.

"I will be relieved to get back to civilisation," he remarked to Galahan, who was folding up the tent he shared with Sindel. "Say what you like about forests, there is only so much mud and animal droppings a man can take." On that note he paused, ran a careful hand over his blond tresses and glanced at his fingers to assure himself it had been nothing more than water which had hit him before. "Where are the ladies?" he asked.

"They went to wash," Galahan said. "Ferrix is with them. If you are hungry, there is some breakfast left by the fire."

"Is something wrong?" Zevran asked, detecting something in the other elf's voice.

"I suppose you could say the future preys upon my mind today." The hunter rocked back on his heel where he crouched, glancing up. "Much will be decided, for good or ill. Lives will change…maybe end."

"You and Sindel," Zevran said, "Alistair and Asleena."

"Even you, Zevran."

The assassin chuckled. "Ah, is this where you give me another piece of cryptic advice, my friend? You are quite welcome to speak candidly rather than dancing about as you did last time. I told her about Alistair, you know."

"Told her what about Alistair?"

"That I saw him, of course. What else was there to say?"

"Why you kept silent?"

Zevran gave him a very long look. "And he who listens so closely to what goes on around him would know the answer to that?"

Galahan chewed the inside of his lip, then said, "Do you still want me to speak candidly?"

"I would rather you did not."

"'Cryptically', then…as you called it?"

"Why are you so eager to speak at all? Did you not say once that you understand silence?"

Galahan said nothing and looked back to his half-folded tent, lifting another piece of canvas with both hands and pulling it across with a rasp of heavy fabric.

"Besides," Zevran said, suddenly finding himself unwilling to end the conversation so abruptly, "I suspect she has figured that out by now." When no response was forthcoming to that, he sighed. "Perhaps you are right. My life may be affected as much as anyone's today."

"What ending do you desire for yourself, Zev?" Galahan asked. He looked up at the assassin with a questioning frown.

Zevran shrugged. He could give a cavalier answer, something that meant nothing, a half-truth jest about desiring an ending that involved lovely eyes, dark hair, strong arms and long legs, but things had come too far now to be anything but honest. And what, really, was the point of lying to a man who gave every impression that he already knew the truth?

"The ending I desire," he said, uncomfortable with revealing anything of himself, "is the one where I am happy. You wish the same thing, no?"

Galahan's expression was a peculiar mixture of pity and empathy. "Not precisely."

The sound of feminine chatter became audible from the trees, drawing closer and becoming clearer. Both men glanced in that direction even though there was nothing to see yet but greenery, and Galahan said, "I desire the ending where my love is happy."

* * *

For the rest of the morning it was Galahan and Sindel who took the lead, while Zevran and Asleena followed with Ferrix and the horses. The two Dalish seemed to want to make the most of what time they had left, and even though it was uncertain either of them were going to die the possibility weighed heavily on both of them. They walked close together, arms around shoulder or waist, their conversation inaudible beneath rustling leaves.

Asleena had put on her dragonbone armour. She couldn't say if she was expecting trouble, but for some reason she felt the need to wrap herself in scale and steel, as though the physical sense of protection would be at all useful against words and emotion. She was acutely aware of the assassin keeping pace by her side, walking in a silence that felt unnatural for him. His manner reminded her a little of when they and Sindel had been heading for the earthwound, where Asleena had sensed Alistair's presence…like he was waiting for the future to happen and decide his fate for him.

"Zev," she said at last, drawing his attention. "No matter what happens, I meant what I said about Highever. You'd be welcomed there."

The assassin chuckled at that. "After Arl Howe's occupation I daresay the keep would need more elven servants, no? Perhaps I could improve the current stock."

Asleena eyed him, then decided to play along. "Well, you're a good cook," she said. "I could put you in charge of the kitchen. We'd have the prettiest food in Ferelden."

"Oh?" Zevran looked amused at the idea, then he grinned in a sly fashion. "I am no master of the culinary arts by any stretch, but I do take some pride in the preparation of 'midnight snacks'. A bored noblewoman with a certain hunger would always be able to call upon me in the early hours."

"Only the noblewomen?" she asked dryly.

"I could make some exceptions in the other direction, of course," the Antivan replied smoothly. "Your brother, for instance, was quite the handsome looking fellow. Is something the matter?" he added innocently, for Asleena had made a slight choking sound at that, her imagination conjuring up an image of Fergus and Zevran lingering over a late night mug of that delicious hot chocolate while giving each other long and meaningful glances across tumbled blankets.

"Did you _have _to suggest hitting on Fergus?" she asked plaintively.

"My dear Grey Warden," Zevran protested with a smirk that belied his tone, "here I thought we were discussing food! Has your brother ever tried Antivan fare?"

"He happens to adore Antivan…fare." Asleena gave him a filthy look. "You're horrible," she accused.

The assassin issued a small bow and flashed another smile, golden-brown eyes dancing. "Not at all, my dear. Simply an acquired taste."

At least it broke the silence. In truth, most days Zevran could run rings around her with his assorted innuendo and euphemisms. Asleena tended to feel very pleased with herself whenever she managed to get him back, and although such times had become more frequent after their recent companionship, he was still the undisputed master of the verbal sparring arena. Still, losing rarely failed to be entertaining. Or educational.

After a couple of hours trekking through the dense undergrowth, they broke into the cleared area surrounding Starkhaven. The tower looked a great deal bigger from ground level, a hulking, brooding presence.

"Looks very unfriendly, doesn't it?" she murmured when they'd caught up to where Galahan and Sindel waited.

"The Dalish don't have a good history with this place," Sindel said, giving the tower an apprehensive look. "Templars would often go into the Green Dales to hunt for mages not under their control. They have left the clans alone recently…but only because the darkspawn presence made it too dangerous for them, I think."

"The hunter and trapper community, too, have issue with the Dalish," Galahan said, indicating several leather-clad archers who were watching the party closely, "for reasons that should be obvious. Elves are not welcome here, save as servants or slaves to the Circle."

"You're all with me," Asleena said firmly, unshouldering Duncan's shield and strapping it on. "If anyone asks, we're on Grey Warden business. Let's hope people remember a Blight ended here."

They made their way onwards, unchallenged but under a certain amount of scrutiny.

Starkhaven had no paved roads. There were rutted tracks of dirt where carts had been pulled, obvious trails where the passage of feet had worn down grass to bare soil, but nothing paved, not even to the Circle Tower. Asleena noted lumber mills, tanneries, furriers, a slaughterhouse and at least one smithy. There was also a respectable fleet of small ships moored in the Minanter River, which the locals undoubtedly used to transport goods.

"Westwards the Minanter goes all the way to Nevarra City and further," Zevran said when she mentioned this. "East it exits into the Amaranthine Ocean and not far from Antiva. Both good directions for trade, no?"

The populace of Starkhaven were a rough-looking bunch, something to be expected of people who lived off the not-always-hospitable land. They favoured leather, fur and practical fabrics as choice for wear and while the majority were human there were a surprising number of dwarfs and even a few qunari (or tal'vashoth, as Sten might call them). The absence of elves and visibility of Asleena's armour meant that the party drew more than a few passing glances, some curious, most not at all friendly, but the insignia on Duncan's shield appeared to do the trick of warning people off.

Through it all, Asleena kept her senses alert. She could feel Sindel's corruption easily enough, but nothing from the nearby lodges. Perhaps Alistair was further afield, or in the tower.

"Anything?" Zevran asked quietly, noticing her preoccupation.

"Nothing close by," Asleena replied. "But I think there's something in the tower. I can sense Taint up there. I'm too far away to be sure….it doesn't feel like him." She looked up and concentrated, trying to understand the Grey Warden senses she'd never truly been trained how to use. "I think…" she said slowly, "there are other Grey Wardens here."

This was verified when they made it to the base of the Circle Tower and were approached by one of the helmeted Templars guarding the gates.

"Good morning, Grey Warden," he said, crossing his arms over his chest and bowing at the waist. "I was not made aware any more of you were coming. Your brethren are already upstairs, preparing for some ritual the mages are helping with."

"A Joining?" Asleena asked, returning the bow.

"Yes, for three recruits picked up in the west."

"I have two more potentials with me," Asleena said. "Can we please be admitted to attend the ritual?"

"I will have to call for some of my fellows to escort you," the Templar said after a brief hesitation, and what looked like a fast inspection of Sindel. "I mean no offence, Warden, but you have an apostate with you. This is for the Circle's protection."

Seeing no real harm in it and not wanting to miss the Joining by starting an argument, Asleena agreed.

"That hound of yours will have to stay outside," the Templar added. "And the horses can't be left here. There is a stable that way." He pointed west.

"I will see to it," Zevran volunteered. "I doubt the Grey Wardens will want me to witness their secret rites, hm?"

"Thanks, Zev." Asleena crouched down to eye level with Ferrix. "As for you," she said, ruffling the mabari's ears then rubbing his neck, "I'm trusting you to keep Zevran out of trouble. No letting him go off with strange women _or _men, understand?"

Ferrix barked and Zevran said, "Your concern for my well-being brings tears to my eyes. If you would be so kind as to hold the reins of my horse for a moment?" She did so, and he turned to the Dalish.

"So, my friends, good luck up there. I will say a prayer to the Maker that all goes well."

"I hope we see each other again soon, Zevran," Sindel said, bestowing a smile that lit her pale face. "It has been a pleasure."

"Indeed it has, fair Keeper," Zevran agreed, taking one of her hands to kiss the fingers, and grinning as he did so.

"When you are done making free with my betrothed…" Galahan said with a mock-sigh, and then he and Zevran were clasping wrists. "Be well, lethallan."

"Bonne niviati, as we say in Antiva."

Zevran backed away, took both horses and watched as Starkhaven's ponderous gates swung open, allowing two Templars egress.

"See you soon," Asleena said to Zevran.

"I will see if I can find anything of Alistair while waiting," he promised, and she nodded her thanks, then led Galahan and Sindel into the Circle Tower with the Templars in attendance. Once the gates had closed he looked down at the patient Ferrix, who wagged his tail. "Let us find that stable, hm?"

It wasn't hard. After a few minutes of walking in the direction the Templar had indicated, the sounds and smells of livestock became all too apparent. The hostler in charge didn't seem to care that Zevran was an elf so long as he could pay for the stalls he wanted, and the next hour passed with the not altogether unpleasant chores of removing tack, brushing the horses down and looking to their water and feed. When this was done, Zevran clicked his tongue for Ferrix to heel and started out.

Then paused, turning to stare at the silver Orlesian mare standing in another stall.

Taelin's horse. He was positive, but there was no reason for Roja Irrenill to have come to Starkhaven.

"Roja who?" the groom said when Zevran asked, and he shook his head at the description given. "That fine beast belongs to an Antivan, sure, but no one said anything about a House of Irrenill."

"Did they say where they were from?" Zevran asked, smiling in a friendly way. "I am a countryman, in case you can't tell."

"Hmph." The man lifted both shoulders in a shrug. "Can't say I remember…no, wait one second," he added as several silvers made their way from Zevran's purse to his hand. "There were three of them, two elves and a human, and they were seen coming up north from the Wildervale."

Zevran flipped him two more coins. "When did they arrive?"

"Three days ago by my count," the hostler said, buffing one of the silvers on his sleeve, "and I haven't heard anything of them since. If you see them around, tell them I only hold animals for a week before selling them or having them turned into sausages."

"And if you see them," Zevran said, twirling one more coin around his fingers and smiling, "don't mention me. I want to surprise them."

Once outside, he and Ferrix made swift passage back towards the Circle Tower. The Crows were here! Of _course_ they'd known Zevran would turn up at Starkhaven—this was where Alistair had been headed. And of course they hadn't returned to Antiva with Roja Irrenill…a botched political wedding where the prospective bride had been killed and Zevran was still at large? The guild would have their heads for returning home after such a disaster, even if it had been orchestrated by Xai.

_Xai…who told me the Crows were still plotting against my life. He pointed out Taelin's horse to me. He made sure I looked at it._

_He knew I'd recognise it when I saw it again…_

"Smug, crafty bastard," he muttered under his breath.

Zevran should have anticipated retaliation for leaving Crows alive at his back, but he hadn't, not once he and Asleena had won free of Markham City. Now the assassins were here, well entrenched by this time, they almost certainly knew where Alistair was, and they'd devised Maker only knew what plan.

There were only three of them, but they'd had a very good master.

When he reached Starkhaven's gates, he went straight up to the Templars and said, "I need a message delivered to the Grey Warden Asleena. It's urgent."

* * *

Starkhaven's Circle Tower was very different to Ferelden's Kinloch Hold. It felt much older, archaic even, and while it had been furnished and decorated with all manner of things to convey a comfortable, modern feel, it was all overlaid by a sense of ancient history. When Asleena asked who the building had been constructed by, neither Templar could answer her. As far as the Circle was concerned, Starkhaven predated the arrival of humans to Thedas.

Neither Galahan nor Sindel joined the conversation, both walking silently and close together. They didn't seem to like being surrounded by stone walls and not being able to see the sky, but they tried to walk proudly and hide their wariness.

Unlike Kinloch Hold, Starkhaven was mercifully free of abominations. Asleena had never set foot in Ferelden's tower before the trouble had started, so she hadn't quite known what to expect in terms of normality. Morrigan had always gone on about it being nothing short of a prison for mages, while Wynne (who'd actually _lived_ there) had called it home. It didn't look…_bad_. As the party was led through floor after floor, ever ascending, she saw apprentices in training or giggling as they ran from one class to another, there were the recognised mages who had survived the mysterious Harrowing and now furthered their art, the senior mages who passed on their knowledge and guidance to the young…

…and the Templars, always watching.

Mostly they watched Sindel in her elven robes, but she ignored them with admirable calm.

It took five flights of stairs before they reached the Harrowing Chamber, where the Grey Wardens were to perform the Joining. One of the Templar guards knocked and the arched door was opened by a pleasant-faced man wearing chain armour and a sword at his belt. His blue eyes instantly fixed on Asleena and he blinked in surprise.

"Come in, Sister," he said, stepping back.

Four more pairs of Grey Warden eyes examined her as she and the elves entered the room, as well as those of the three recruits. Only one of the whole group was female, an elven Warden with braided red hair and silverite plate armour. All the others were men and human bar one, an elven recruit with Dalish tattoos.

Not quite knowing what to say, Asleena bowed to the room in general and went for an introduction. "I am Asleena, Warden Commander of Ferelden. I bring two recruits to the Grey: Galahan and Sindel of the Dalish clans." Both elves genuflected in unison.

"I am Zaria," the elven woman replied, bowing with one hand to her heart and the other outstretched at her side, "Senior Warden of Tantervale. My companions are Darshan, Trav, Maark and Oscar. Our recruits are Osen of Tantervale, Revas of the Dalish clans and Beyson of Solas. Might I say, Warden Commander Asleena," Zaria finished with a curious smile, "you seem rather far from home. I rather thought Ferelden would have plenty of darkspawn left to keep you busy."

"Orlais is assisting with that," Asleena said. "I came to the Free Marches following the trail of Alistair, another Warden from Ferelden. Has he been here?"

"If he has, we haven't seen him," Zaria said with a glance at her fellow Wardens. "We arrived only recently to re-arm and perform the Joining before continuing east into the Green Dales. We received word of darkspawn nests in the forests, but they have been popping up all along the river since the archdemon was killed. Nice work, by the way."

"Loghain struck the killing blow."

The Senior Warden raised her brows. "Loghain Mac Tir? The general who quit the field at Ostagar then accused our order of the betrayal?"

"Yes," Asleena said quietly, refusing to look away from the other woman's eyes.

Zaria let the silence hang for a moment beyond what felt comfortable, then said, "Perhaps there is some justice there."

"And the nest in the Green Dales has been taken care of," Sindel put in. Every eye turned to her, but she lifted her chin. "There are still some roaming darkspawn, but the source was dealt with. Asleena killed the broodmother, and Alistair helped flood the nest."

Zaria remained looking at the former Keeper, a slight frown creasing her brow. "We can make room for two more at the Joining, Sister," she said at last, looking to Asleena. "The mages have almost finished preparing the lyrium. You should all be told now," she went on, speaking to the five recruits, "that the Joining can result in death. Once it begins there is no turning back or changing your mind. You _must _proceed.

"Are you prepared to become Grey Wardens?"

There was a chorus of assent from those gathered.

Zaria nodded to the Warden who had opened the door. "Oscar, please find First Enchanter Jarvel and tell him we are ready."


	35. The Joining

_Author's Note: A welcome to all the new readers, by the way! Glad to have you along. :)_

_- Mystialla: You're good, don't worry! :) I had picked up the elven thing before you mentioned it, but of course *after* I wrote that chapter. Still, I prefer to be picked up on these things if people spot stuff that's wrong. ;)_

* * *

The Harrowing Chamber was completely silent while the group waited, each man or woman lost in their own thoughts. Only Galahan and Sindel stood together, each grasping the other's hand, but they too remained unspeaking. Asleena found herself glancing around the room, her eyes lingering on this feature or that as she unconsciously sought to distract herself from what was to come, and stopped when she realised she was doing it. Warden Commanders probably weren't supposed to fidget. She stared at the middle of the floor instead, where the smooth stone tiles patterned outwards in a spiral design.

In a matter of minutes, Oscar returned with a large silver chalice held between both hands. The door to the Harrowing Chamber was locked behind him and he crossed the silent floor to pass his burden to Zaria. Asleena saw the interior of the cup very briefly as the young Warden passed her, and seeing the almost-black ruby liquid rippling within the confines of that silvered curve sent a chill of memory coursing down her spine and a burning sensation up the back of her throat.

"During the first Blight," Zaria said into the hush, "when our ancestors stood on the brink of destruction, the Grey Wardens were founded. An order of men and women dedicated to fighting the darkspawn, and giving their lives to that end.

"Our immunity to the taint, our strength and our sacrifice comes from the very creatures we strive against. To master the taint within ourselves," she lifted the chalice a fraction, "we must first drink of it. To this you are called to submit for the greater good."

"Darkspawn blood?" Osen, one of the recruits said with wide eyes. "We have to drink _darkspawn_ _blood_?"

None of the recruits looked particularly pleased at this idea, not even Galahan, but none more so than Sindel. The former Keeper's dark-circled eyes were wide, lips parted on a single unvoiced word: "_No_."

"None of you would have been allowed here unless we were sure you had a chance of survival," Zaria said. "Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to be what we are, but it is for the protection of all."

Movement caught Asleena's eye…Sindel had pulled her hand free of Galahan's and was backing away from Zaria and the chalice. "No," she said, aloud this time.

"Sindel," Galahan said quietly, reaching for her, but she only retreated further.

Zaria's eyes rested on the Dalish woman. "There is no turning back."

"No," Sindel repeated. "I already drank their blood and _worse_. They _forced _me! I…I can't…I _won't!_" Horrified, beseeching eyes turned to Asleena. "Please don't make me do this, lethallin. Not again!"

It felt like the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. Why, _why_ hadn't she foreseen this moment? Asleena tried to take a calming step towards Sindel but the other woman kept her distance…and now a tension rippled through the room as the other Wardens came on guard.

"You have to," Asleena said, feeling a sudden fear begin to pound in her heart. She remembered, with painful clarity, what had happened to Ser Jory when he'd tried to back out of the Joining at Ostagar. "If you don't, you'll die or worse. Sindel, the corruption already in you—"

"No!" Sindel's face hardened. The hairs on the back of Asleena's neck stood on end, her Templar training hissing a warning as the Dalish woman drew upon the Fade.

"Don't do this," she began, but then there was a flurry of motion as Galahan spun, bow leaping to his hand and a hawk-fletched arrow drawn tight against the string, its point aimed straight at the Warden nearest his betrothed…who had pulled a dagger from his belt.

"Drop it," the elf ordered with a tightly controlled voice, but while the Warden made no further move he did not obey.

Zaria herself did not shift position, the chalice still held between her palms, but her startled recruits pulled back out of the way as two more of her Wardens drew swords and a third wound back his crossbow in a calm, almost detached manner that made Asleena's blood run cold. Stone armour flashed across Sindel's skin and Galahan was backing towards her, deliberately putting his body in the path of Darshan's crossbow while simultaneously trying to keep the three bladesmen in his sights.

"I don't want to kill anyone here," Galahan said, his eyes flickering briefly to Asleena, "but she will not fall before I do."

The crossbow lifted and pointed at him even as Galahan's ultimatum caused Sindel to hesitate. Darshan sighted along his weapon, but it was hardly necessary…Galahan stood still, a perfect target, the muscles of his arms clearly defined as he kept his powerful bow drawn.

Asleena was moving into the line of fire before she realised what she was doing, Duncan's shield lifted to protect Galahan against the Grey Wardens. "Lower that thing," she commanded Darshan, then swept the rest of the room with her gaze. "All of you, lower your weapons!"

"Are you proposing we let them go…Warden Commander?" Zaria asked.

"No, I'm proposing your friends _drop their damn weapons_!" Asleena shouted, her free hand clenching into a fist and her voice bouncing angrily against the stone walls. "Maker's breath…she hasn't _done _anything yet."

"She's a mage, is she not?" Zaria pointed out. "If she _does _do something, I'm fairly sure we'll all regret it a great deal. I have a duty to perform, and so do you."

"I do," Asleena agreed. She unstrapped the shield from her arm and let it fall with a steely ring of metal on stone. "So give that cup to me."

The Senior Warden's eyes searched hers, narrowing, then she nodded and passed the chalice into Asleena's waiting hands. The Ferelden woman glanced down into the dark swirling liquid, took a breath to steady herself and approached her Dalish friends. Around the room, stances relaxed but faces remained cautious. Only Revas, Zaria's Dalish recruit, looked particularly torn over the situation.

"This is not the same as what happened in the earthwound," Asleena said firmly, looking at Sindel's mutinous face over Galahan's shoulder. "The blood has been treated with lyrium, and it will do one of two things: kill you or make you a Grey Warden. It won't make you a ghoul, it won't make you a broodmother, it won't make you anything else. If you die, I'll carry you home like I promised. If you live, it will be over. You'll feel better. I swear it." She paused. "If you refuse to drink…you will both die. And I'm sure you don't want that," she added, giving a pointed glance to Galahan then returning her gaze to Sindel.

"You'd let them kill us?" Sindel whispered.

Asleena lowered her eyes. "I don't want to."

_And no…I don't think I could. Not if it came down to it. I'd want to let you go and pray for the best, I'd want to defend you…but at the same time I don't know if I could draw my sword against other Wardens. _

_Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place. Perhaps this just goes to show I'm not cut out for the responsibility of command. I can't do 'whatever it takes'. I'm not Duncan…and a part of me hopes I never will be._

Aware that the Grey Wardens were paying just as close attention as the elves, Asleena avoided a direct answer to Sindel's question by glancing up again and saying, "I don't want them to kill either of you, but sooner or later someone would have to go after _you, _Sindel. The corruption will keep spreading and if you don't simply go mad and _die_ you will become dangerous. You couldn't go home. You could infect others...people you care about, innocent strangers."

"Beloved," Galahan murmured, "we knew it would come to this."

"I know. I…" Sindel took a shaking breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't know there would be drinking darkspawn blood involved. You could have warned me," she said quietly in Asleena's direction, a reproachful look in her face.

"I didn't think," Asleena said in apology. "But all things considered…would you have agreed to the Joining if I'd told you?"

Sindel's attention fell on the chalice. "Will it hurt?"

Asleena hesitated, but nodded reluctantly. "Yes. It will. I'm sorry."

Sindel stared at the chalice like it was an executioner's axe, tears sliding down her pallid cheeks, and Galahan said, "Might I make a request? Pour us each a portion into two separate cups." He looked back at Sindel. "We can drink together."

At the former Keeper's slow nod, Asleena called for and was presented with two empty flasks. Setting the chalice down on the floor, she dipped each container into the wide bowl of the cup to fill them appropriately, wiped the glass sides clean, then handed one each to Galahan and Sindel.

"Are you ready?"

The two elves faced one another. Galahan extended a hand to smooth the tears from his betrothed's face, lifted her chin and kissed her. Just once.

"With you I hunt," he said quietly, looking only at her, "under the sun and the star, the leaves and the shade. With you I run, the earth guiding our feet, the wind giving us wings."

The hunter's voice had taken on certain cadence, as though he was speaking a formula he had practiced many times in the past. On the other side of the room, Zaria's Dalish recruit bowed his head.

"With you I fly," Sindel replied, her voice still uneven, but steadying as she gazed up at Galahan. She ran trembling fingers across one side of his face and through his golden hair. "Lifted over soil and stream, mountain and cloud. With you I climb, never to fall, ever striving to touch the vaults of the sky."

There was a shimmer of moisture in Galahan's eyes now. He smiled, nodded, drew breath, and then the two elves spoke as one:

"With you I love, blessed by the Creators to dwell in joy, and to know the comfort of a true heart.

"With you I live.

"Ma'vhena."

Each lifted a flask to their lips, hesitated for the barest breath of time with eyes locked, then drank the darkspawn blood.

"Join us, brothers and sisters," Zaria intoned as the Dalish couple staggered and dropped the glass vials, the first brush of the taint reaching them. Galahan groped for Sindel and she wrapped her arms around him as he enfolded her.

"Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn." Ribs creaked as the embrace tightened and heads snapped up, eyes rolling back so that only the whites showed and mouths opening in mute cries of agony.

"And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten…" They fell to the tiled floor together. There was a crystalline splintering sound as the flasks were broken beneath them and ground into the stone. Writhing in each other's grasp, they collapsed.

"…and that one day," Zaria finished, her calm tone not faltering as the two elves lay unmoving, "we shall join you."

Asleena let out the breath she'd been holding and crouched quickly near her friends, stretching her hands out towards their throats to feel for the beat of life, but she stopped short of her goal. Inhaling sharply, she pulled her arms back to her sides and stared at the two of them. She could _feel _them. The pulse of tainted blood was rapid and weak, but it was present in each prone body.

Seeing Galahan's eyes crack open to find her bending over him, Asleena couldn't stop the relieved smile that spread across her face. Someone else might have said something enigmatic or solemn to mark the occasion of their becoming Grey Wardens, but _she_ could only say the first words that came to her:

"You made it. You both did."

Galahan made no reply. He held his wife closer to his heart and shut his eyes again, silent tears falling into her black hair.


	36. The Crows Circle

_Author's Notes: Thanks all, glad you liked it. ^_^ _

_Mystialla - I learned something recently regarding the elven language :) Another reader/writer, Lehni, wrote in to say that in the DA book "The Stolen Throne" there are specific cases of elves talking to each other in their own language, as heard by Loghain and Maric. One of the elves explains to them later, in the King's tongue, that they try to speak their own language amongst themselves as much as possible to keep it alive. Apparently there were plans to have ambient conversation in elven and dwarven in relevant areas (or so it was mentioned in the Bioware forums), but this was not implemented for various reasons. Thanks again Lehni for that info! :D_

_As to your questions, I don't know if 'Bonne niviati' is from an actual language (though it could be a bastardised form of something? Bonne = good?). I took it from in-game dialogue. Zev says this post-coronation if you say you don't want him to stick around anymore, with something of an explanation as to what it might mean. :) _Cioccolata Densa_, on the other hand, is Italian for 'Thick Chocolate'.  
_

_Galahan's name might have been unconsciously inspired by Galahad, as I realised the similarities after I picked it. ;) It was more directly inspired by Garahel, a Grey Warden hero of the Fourth Blight. So I think he draws from both. :)_

_Ok, back to the story..._ :)

* * *

The last thing Zevran wanted to do, now that he knew the Crows were circling Starkhaven, was to stay in one place. Even though the front gates of the Circle Tower with its Templar guardians might feel like a safe location, his instincts wanted him to keep moving. At the same time, he wasn't stupid enough to go looking for trouble. The scattered villages were not a city; they didn't have interconnecting rooftops to run across or sewers to flee through. They didn't even have handy little back alleys and twisting backstreets a man could conveniently slip into and disappear.

He compromised by keeping close to the tower and circling its perimeter with Ferrix. He would have liked to have looked for Alistair as he'd told Asleena he would, but wherever the ex-Templar was it was almost certain a Crow would be keeping watch. As good as Zevran thought himself to be, he was smart enough to know when to lie low.

There was a stone walkway that went around the circumference of the Circle Tower. It was narrow, barely wide enough for two abreast, and it was on this that Zevran and Ferrix walked until they reached the western side of the structure. Here the walkway was elevated above ground level by at least ten feet, and it dropped away into a fork of the Minanter River. It almost looked like the tower itself was splitting the flow of the water; for it came in from the west, surged up to the rocky foundations of the crag Starkhaven rose from, then diverted north and south.

Zevran admired the view for a little while, enjoying the cool mist of spray that was carried up from the river by the wind, then noticed a solitary helmeted Templar guard patrolling his way and decided to continue walking.

It occurred to him then, as he and the guard angled their bodies to pass one another on the walkway, the Templar close to the wall and Zevran on the outer edge, that full uniform armour could be a very effective disguise.

This realisation came as the Templar moved, a Crow dagger sliding quietly from one arm brace into his gloved hand and stabbing towards Zevran's heart. Unable to jump backwards without risking an uncertain landing, Zevran barely managed to lunge to one side and grab at his attacker's arm in an attempt to avoid serious injury, but he still felt the hot slice of metal cutting across his ribs…coupled with the numbing chill of a strong poison that brought him to his knees.

"The Antivan Crows send their regards…traitor."

Through the stupefying fog of chemicals stunning his mind, Zevran could only vaguely make out the sound of Ferrix snarling and the dark blur of him launching his body against the fake Templar, bearing him backwards and forcing him to defend himself in the unaccustomed weight of armour rather than finish his target off. Zevran struggled to stand, one hand pushing at the stone while the other groped for the hilt of any blade he could find, but then he was grasping at the metal-clad fist closing around his throat.

This time the dagger sank into his belly.

"Any last words?" the man asked coldly, his voice hollow behind the Templar helmet.

Zevran managed a chuckle and took a firmer grip on his attacker's wrist. "Do you know how hard it is to swim in full plate?" he rasped.

And pushed backwards.

The sky and archaic tower spun dizzyingly above. Hair and cloth flapped briefly in the air as everything hung suspended, timeless. The blade in Zevran's stomach came free with a wrench of pain…it lifted, steel and blood glinting as sunlight struck, but the river hit them first and sucked both men down.

Zevran grabbed at the arm with the blade and tore at the fingers digging into his throat. He didn't bother trying to strike—it would have been a waste of time through plate and with the weight of the river hampering momentum. His goal for survival was simple: avoid further damage and get free…the river would kill his foe fast enough. But as though resigned to his fate that he would indeed drown, the Crow-Templar seemed determined to take Zevran down with him. When his hand finally slipped from the elf's neck it seized the thick belt crossing his chest and dragged him even deeper into the black cold.

His lungs started to burn. He hadn't been able to draw a proper breath from the get-go. There was a painful throbbing in his abdomen, and bright spots started to dance in front of his eyes in the liquid gloom. Zevran gave up trying to pry the fingers from his shoulder belt and pulled a dagger to shear desperately through the leather strap. It gave, taking his sword with it, and he let go of the man's other wrist to let him sink to the bottom, white Templar armour gleaming ghost-like even down here.

It was odd how the memory played tricks when the body was struggling not to die. Zevran had almost drowned once, some time ago back in Antiva City—knocked out of a window during a fierce battle, only to be fished from the river by some urchins who'd been more interested in liberating his possessions than seeing if their owner still drew breath.

He hoped they wouldn't steal his boots this time. He really was quite fond of them.

Streamers of wavering light filtered down from above and he kicked towards them, fingers reaching, but his legs felt leaden and his chest burned with effort. He choked once and water trickled down his windpipe.

_So. __Here I am. An inglorious end, no?_

If this was an epic adventure of legend instead of _reality_, he'd be rescued.

And resuscitated by the heroine, who would weep tears of joy at his deliverance then clasp him to her bosom.

Zevren felt a weak grin touch his lips…then he floated, one arm still stretched towards the sun.

* * *

"You might have to do it, one day," Zaria said.

"Maybe."

The Harrowing Chamber was empty but for them. The other Wardens had helped or carried the new recruits from the room some time ago. The new recruits…and one elven corpse. Revas had not survived the Joining. Asleena stared dully at the silver chalice she had passed him, the poison that had taken his life.

_We all do our share of killing around here, don't we?_

She rubbed a hand over her face.

"I've been a Warden for twenty-six years now," Zaria said, shifting position a little. She sat cross-legged on the floor like Asleena did, the Joining cup between them. "It gets easier. After a while you see the taint take so many lives it just doesn't bother you so much anymore." She didn't say it in a way that was meant to sound comforting, rather matter-of-factly.

"I don't know if I want to be like that," Asleena replied. "You make it sound like…emotion…compassion…gets worn away. Like water on stone."

"It does for a lot of us. One can hardly go through things like this regularly without developing a certain numbness to it all, and finding ways to avoid emotional distress." Zaria glanced at the chalice. "Most of us learn very early on not to become close to recruits before the Joining, for instance. Most of us learn the hard way," she added softly when Asleena began to frown at the perceived rebuke.

Silence fell, then was broken by a tentative tap at the door.

"Come in," Zaria called, and a young mage entered the room. He glanced around the Harrowing Chamber with an uneasy expression, then approached the two Wardens.

"I was asked to carry a message up here for the Grey Warden Asleena?" he said, looking between the two women and holding up a scroll.

"That's me. Thanks." Asleena took the missive and unrolled it to read:

'_The Crows from Markham are in Starkhaven and have been for three days. Unknown if Xai is here. They must have travelled direct while we went to the Green Dales. Expecting trouble.'_

"What's wrong?" Zaria asked when Asleena stood up.

"Assassins. Loghain set up a contract with the Antivan Crows to try and kill the Grey Wardens who survived Ostagar," Asleena explained. "They ambushed us, failed, and the one survivor, Zevran, joined us when we spared his life. The Crows have been trying to off him since then. He's here in Starkhaven, outside, and he's just warned me that some of his former colleagues are here too."

"How do you know this Zevran can be trusted?" Zaria asked, standing.

Asleena smiled. There were too many reasons, so she picked one a Grey Warden veteran would appreciate. "He stood by my side against the archdemon, for one thing." She waved the parchment and started for the door. "I better get down there. The Crows caused a great deal of trouble for us in Markham City."

"If you need assistance, Sister, you know where we are." Zaria bowed. "When your recruits recover, where should I send them? Or should they remain here?"

"They probably won't want to stay indoors," Asleena said. "Tell them to wait at the stables if I'm not right outside the tower. Oh, and thanks…for letting us barge in on your Joining."

"It was interesting, certainly," Zaria replied with a small smile. "Travel well, Asleena. And might I say…I am glad your friends survived this day. I pray you are always so fortunate."

* * *

Something was licking his face and whimpering.

Zevran groaned, gagged, then hurriedly rolled over before throwing up an unhealthy amount of the Minanter River.

"Good boy," he croaked to Ferrix, who was now bounding excitedly around him, dripping and yapping in equal measure. "I must admit I was hoping to be saved by someone with longer legs, but the licking was a nice touch."

He glanced around groggily, trying to get his bearings. The Circle Tower was clearly visible to the north above the trees, but no cabins appeared to be nearby. The river was lapping at his boots and he lay stomach down on the earthy bank, minus his sword and another dagger. Ferrix had deep scratches on his muzzle and shoulders, but for the moment looked incredibly pleased with himself that Zevran was alive.

"Yes, yes," the assassin said, chuckling as the mabari ducked his head in close and huffed anxiously. "I owe you one, my friend. Now would you mind going off to find Asleena or Sindel? I still seem to be bleeding a fair bit, and I'd like to stop doing that. It makes a dreadful mess and I get all dizzy after a while."

Ferrix barked and tore off in the direction of the tower, leaving Zevran to sit up and press his hand against the sluggishly seeping wound in his belly.

"You have more lives than a sodding cat, Zevran Arainai," a feminine, Antivan-accented voice remarked.

Zevran's hand moved reflexively towards his right boot in which a blade was strapped, but he stopped when two elven assassins emerged from the trees, one of whom had a bow trained on him.

"What can I say?" he replied, trying for a smile. "Someone up there likes me." He coughed then, spitting up more water. "Or not. It is not so easy to tell right now."

"Kill him before that mongrel brings the Grey Wardens down on our heads," the other elf, a dark-haired tattooed man said.

"It's funny you should mention them," Zevran said, thinking fast and deciding to lie for all he was worth. "Did you know, had the Crows ever taken the time to approach me in secret about my botched contract rather than constantly trying to kill me, they might have learned I had not, in fact, gone rogue?"

"Nice try," the woman said, keeping her bow on him. "If you were still a Crow you could have pleaded your case to Taliesen instead of helping the Wardens kill him."

"You heard about that, hm? Unfortunately for Taliesen, he made the same mistake I did when I first tried to lay ambush for my marks: he thought a straight fight would win the day." Zevran chuckled self-deprecatingly. "If I sided with him I would be dead right now, for I doubt the Wardens would have spared me a second time. No, my friends," he went on, keeping control of the conversation, sounding calm and trying to buy time for himself, "when I survived that first fight I took the path I should have seen from the start and began to earn their trust. They already had an Orlesian bard in their ranks, an apostate mage from the Wilds and a self-confessed murderer of the qunari, so why not an Antivan assassin?

"These Grey Wardens, Alistair and Asleena in particular…they place great store in loyalty. Once it is earned you can get close enough to kill them, and I have gone to great lengths to achieve this. They trust me. You heard Asleena say so in Markham City, no?"

"Then why are they still alive?" the man challenged.

Zevran gave him a scathing look. "Well, the one _obvious_ reason is that I need witnesses—a team. If I returned to Antiva claiming the contract was fulfilled after my initial failure, who would believe me? But now that you two are here…would you like to know _exactly_ how much gold Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir and Arl Rendon Howe sank into this job?"

The woman's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Bind his arms," she told her frowning companion. "Search him for weapons and bring him. We will discuss this elsewhere, and kill him if he's unconvincing."

Zevran chuckled low in his throat and gave her a very deliberate smile that had served him well in the past. "My dear…if I am unconvincing you can do whatever you wish with me. If we are going to do this, however, I must ask one thing."

"And that is?"

"Before we kill the lovely Asleena Cousland," Zevran said, smiling wider and half-closing his eyes, "you allow me to kiss her goodbye."


	37. The Goodbye Kiss

_Author's Note: Busy week, sorry everyone! Hope this chapter makes up for it... :) Thanks yet again for reading! Not far to go now..._

_Mystialla - No worries, I like long reviews, so thank you. ^_^ And answering questions is fun. I just have to stop myself from putting a wall of notes before every chapter, hehe._

_Hekateras - Thanks :D Unofficially, I picked Concentrated Crow Poison for that tasty stun effect. He was definitely trying to kill Zev... and if not for Ferrix (and a slight case of overconfidence), he would have._

* * *

By the time Asleena had descended the tower and emerged blinking into the afternoon sunlight, Ferrix had almost reached the gates. He skidded to a stop when he saw her, paws scoring lines in the dirt, and did not come to her for attention but yelped urgently, running back and bounding forwards again.

_Maker's breath…where's Zev?_

"Go!" she ordered the mabari, and jumped past the startled Templars to chase Ferrix south into the trees and down by the riverbank. It took a while. She wasn't as fast as the warhound, she was wearing full armour and she'd just come down several flights of stairs, but eventually Ferrix led her to a spot away from the villages of Starkhaven and near the running water.

The grass and earth were wet, it looked like someone had been dragged up from the river, and there was a large patch of fresh blood.

Ferrix snuffled around the sullied earth and whined, looking up at his shocked mistress with head lowered and tail down as though awaiting a scolding for leaving the Antivan unprotected. It was only then that Asleena saw the bloody furrows a blade had left in her dog's hide.

"Bastards," she whispered, kneeling, removing her gauntlets and taking Ferrix's head to inspect the damage. He was damp, she noticed, and his kaddis was running and smeared. "What were you doing in the river?" she murmured, fishing for the mabari crunch in her belt pouch and breaking a piece off for him. Her eyes returned to the marks in the bank and she stood, mind presenting numerous possibilities, none of which were good. Her heart had already been pounding from the run, but now it quickened for a different reason.

He was wounded. Maybe he'd gone for cover rather than sit in the open? If he'd been killed the Crows would have just left him lying in the dirt, wouldn't they? Or would they have dumped his body…?

She looked at the river, sucked in a breath past the fist clamping around her throat and cupped her hands to her mouth. "_Zevran!_"

Nothing.

Ferrix whimpered uncertainly and paced a little way east, sniffing at the ground then stopping to look back at Asleena. She came over quickly and crouched, finding the bloody speckle in the dirt. There was more further on. If he hadn't even tried to staunch his wounds, something was very wrong.

"Good boy." She rubbed her warhound's head, careful to avoid his injuries. "Lead the way."

Ferrix led her swiftly through the undergrowth, his nose to the earth, and Asleena followed with her eyes alert for danger and her jaw tightly clenched. She could handle Crows. She should have done something about them back in Markham instead of recruiting their leader and expecting the rest to disappear, but _noooo_, she'd had to be merciful and sodding _stupid. _Zevran had originally signed up with her believing she would protect him from his assassin brethren, and she'd been fool enough to leave some alive at their backs—Crows who had _known _where they were going.

"_Idiot_," she whispered angrily.

He was alive. He had to be…

Mabari and Warden broke out of the trees and back into civilisation. There were a few log cabins in this out-of-the-way area but no people about. Ferrix trotted ahead then broke into a run, barking as he barrelled towards the wooden door of a not-so-distant house. Asleena ran after him, stopping by the small front window. The curtains were almost fully drawn, but a crack allowed her to get a look inside. Sheer relief sparked when she saw Zevran, seated and shirtless, facing the door but head lowered as he dabbed at his bleeding stomach with a cloth. His hair looked damp and dishevelled.

So he'd just gone for cover? But…why run here instead of towards the Circle Tower where there were healers?

Relief faded to suspicion, confirmed when Ferrix began to growl at the door. It was a threatening, guttural rumble that brought back unpleasant memories of Highever…and blood.

_Trap?_

She hesitated, then tapped at the windowpane. Zevran looked up at her through the glass, smiled as though nothing was amiss, and made a signal for her to enter.

Reaching down to keep a hand on Ferrix's head to prevent him from charging in, she turned the doorknob and pushed the door open without entering. Unlocked, unbarred…

Zevran raised a brow at her hesitance from where he sat. "You are in no danger," he said, then smiled. "Except, as usual, from me." He glanced at the snarling Ferrix. "Leave him outside, my Grey Warden. The owners of this house could come back any minute, and he can warn us should we need to make a speedy exit." He tilted his head a bit, indicating a large window behind him which backlit the elf with brilliant sunlight, illuminating his pale hair and shadowing his face.

"Ferrix…stay." The warhound's hackles were up and his ears laid back, but he slunk obediently to one side of the door and sat. His whole body was quivering with the danger he sensed, and Asleena crouched beside him to whisper: "I mean it. _Stay._ Warn us if anyone comes, but don't move unless Zev or I tell you to."

A mingled whine/growl and a paw scraping at her armoured knee was the mabari's response. Large brown eyes stared up at her in worry, but he stayed put when she gave his head a final pat and went inside, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it to glance quickly about the room. It was a hunter's cabin. There was one interior door, open, leading off into what looked like a sleeping area, but this room had a couple of simple chairs, a small table with an empty plate and pitcher upon it, some wooden frames with leather sheets stretched between the timbers…There was a stand with a heavy fur cloak near the front door and wooden pegs fixed into the wall nearby, from which hung assorted articles of clothing.

"How did the Joining go?" Zevran asked, pulling her attention to him.

"They both got through it," Asleena said. "They're recovering in the Circle Tower." She suddenly wished she hadn't mentioned that last bit. She should have said they were on their way. Something was wrong here, she knew it and Ferrix knew it. "Are you badly hurt?" she asked, coming further into the room. "What happened?"

"I was ambushed behind the Circle Tower. One of the Crows, naturally…disguised as a Templar." Zevran pulled the cloth away so she could see his battle-scar. There was a long scrape across his ribs as well. "They will need attention…his dagger was poisoned. Nothing immediately life-threatening, but that, blood loss and almost drowning in the river has left me a bit the worse for wear."

"You came here instead of going to the tower?"

Zevran chuckled softly and gifted her with a wry smile. "And risk another false-Templar finishing the job while I am weakened?"

"...oh. That makes sense, I guess." She frowned. It _did _make sense, but it didn't explain Ferrix's agitation. Was someone else in the room with them? She began to scour the shadowed, cluttered corners with her eyes, saying, "Well, you're with me now. No one's going to touch you when I'm around. Come on…let's get you to a healer."

Once again Zevran drew her gaze back to him, but this time by standing abruptly and advancing on her, a swagger in his step, a smile on his lips and a dark glint in his eyes. "I would prefer," he said quietly, dropping the bloody cloth, "other ministrations."

"That poison you mentioned doesn't have any side-effects, does it?" Asleena asked, backing away, but the way he was looking at her made her mouth go dry and her heart stutter in her chest.

"None whatsoever," Zevran said. "Coming close to death, on the other hand, can make a man rethink what he wants out of life. _Who _he wants…"

"We discussed this, Zev," Asleena warned, and almost jumped when she backed right into the door, her armour grinding against the wooden planks. Heat rushed to her cheeks and confusion tangled her tongue. "This can't…you promised…" She lifted a hand palm up towards him to stop his approach, but he walked straight into it. _Deliberately. _She hadn't put her gauntlets back on, so her bare hand was flat against the clean hard muscle of his chest. She could feel tauntingly warm flesh beneath her fingers, and the fluttering of a heartbeat that seemed to leap in response to her touch.

Zevran stopped briefly. Was it her imagination or had the seductive mask slipped for a split second? He pressed closer though, and her elbow bent helplessly to allow him near, fingers curling against his bronzed skin. His smell struck her with all the force of a High Dragon's flame: dizzying, intensely male, spices from Antiva, oils he used on his leathers to keep them supple and soundless…

She could feel her body's rising reaction to him and was suddenly terrified that Ferrix's warning had been about Zevran himself. But _why_? Why now, after everything that had been said between them?

"Don't," she managed to whisper, turning her face away to press her cheek into the door and free herself from the compelling combination of his eyes and scent. "Please, Zev…" She swallowed, felt tears of despair well as he bent his face to her neck and exhaled hot breath across her skin.

She couldn't stop him. Maker forgive her…she couldn't…

"Do not lose faith in me just yet, _amore_."

The murmur against her left ear was so quiet she almost missed it.

"We are not alone. There are two. You are looking straight where one hides. Say 'yes' when you can see her."

Asleena blinked her eyes a couple of times to clear them and stared into the corner with its coats and clothes, breathing raggedly as Zevran began to kiss her throat and work the buckle of her shoulder belt and scabbard with his fingers. There was a dull ringing sound as her sword and Duncan's shield came loose, hitting the floor.

"There is only so much time I can buy," Zevran warned in a rigidly controlled whisper, his hands shifting to undo the first straps of her armour.

She searched harder. Coats, a rust-coloured tunic…she looked lower, down near the floor, made out the outline of a leather boot and followed it up, all the while struggling against the waves of arousal Zevran was provoking. She almost lost sight of the hidden Crow beneath the folds of a leather cloak, but found her again by accident and ended up staring straight at a tanned elven face almost completely camouflaged behind the carved wooden hooks of the coat stand. The woman's leather-clad arm was outstretched in Asleena's direction, flat against the wall and covered by the clothes hanging from the wooden pegs. Just visible, _barely seen_, the mouth of a thin metal pipe extended beyond the draping of garments and was aimed straight between Asleena's eyes.

The buckles came loose and Zevran tugged a dragonbone piece from one arm, taking his time sliding it off and loosening the breastplate, brushing his lips and trailing his tongue along the now-exposed flesh of her collarbone. Asleena couldn't bite back a low whimper of a moan and turned her head away from the Crow's corner, lowering her mouth close to Zevran's ear.

"_Yes_," she tried to whisper, but it came out as a gasp.

"That one is mine," Zevran murmured, speaking on the side of her face the assassin could not see. His breath was coming harder. "The other…opposite corner, near the window. Find him."

One of his hands came up and turned her head to face the right way, an action he covered by beginning to undo the armour straps of her other arm while sucking and nibbling at her neck, giving the hidden Crow something to watch and less reason to suspect.

Without thinking, Asleena's arms were reaching for him now, one hand sliding up the back of his neck to the base of his skull, fingers knotting in his river-dampened hair. The other hand went to his back and traced down the curving length of his spine, feeling the reflexive tightening of his muscles and the light sheen of sweat on his skin. She didn't know if she was trying to assist his ruse or genuinely reacting to the situation by wanting to pull Zevran closer, but her movements summoned a soft noise from the back of the assassin's throat that was half groan, half growl and he stumbled against her, trembling beneath her touch.

He didn't speak. He didn't have to. If she kept on like that it would only make his display more difficult to pull off, or blow his self-control completely.

Asleena studied the far corner and wall of the room, but the glare of light shining through the window made it hard to see much and it was becoming increasingly difficult to think. She was nowhere near as experienced as Zevran; she didn't have his training. She didn't know how to keep her mind separate from all the sensory triggers he was flipping from one side of her body to the other.

He was pulling her other armoured sleeve and shoulder-guard off now, freeing access to her breastplate. And once he got _that _off her…

Her nails dug into Zevran's hip and he thrust closer to her in a sudden visceral response, gasping against the side of her neck. He grabbed at her wrist, tearing it away to pin against the door. His head lifted, eyes staring wildly into hers, but then she saw the figure beyond him. It was little more than a vague man-shaped shadow beside the window, screened by the brightness glaring through the glass. If she tried to look directly at it, it disappeared…

She looked at Zevran instead. "Yes," she whispered.

The breastplate came loose. The front part fell away from her, dangling to one side but prevented from hitting the floor by leather straps connecting it to the backplate, which was held fast between Asleena and the door. She wore a padded under-tunic beneath the armour to prevent it from chafing her skin, but it wasn't anywhere near thick enough to stop the heat of Zevran's body reaching hers or to conceal the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. Golden eyes still staring, lips only a breath away, he released her wrist and reached down between them to slowly trace the upper edge of the belt circling her waist.

Once more, he leaned in to one side and murmured. "That one is yours. Move quickly." The questing fingers paused at her belt dagger and wrapped around the hilt. Silently, he pulled the blade free. "Ready?" he breathed.

She nodded against his cheek. "Yes."

His lips brushed the side of her face, swift as the beat of a bird's wing, then he jerked her forwards and whirled away from her to one side, twisting a half-circle and driving the dagger into the female Crow's wrist as it moved to follow the Warden's path. There was a shriek of pain as the metal blade stabbed through leather, flesh and into the wooden wall, almost obliterating the tiny _click _of the spring-bow as it loosed its single quarrel into the water pitcher, which shattered.

Asleena didn't see this. She stumbled forwards and grabbed the only weapon available within reach: the chair Zevran had been sitting on. Seizing it in both hands she swung it around and threw it full-force at the spot she'd seen the shadow, a roar bursting from her lungs. The light-hidden assassin lunged out of the way, took one look at his disabled companion and the angry Grey Warden bearing down on him, then turned and crashed through the window. He rolled on the ground beyond and got up running.

"Ferrix!" Asleena shouted, rushing to the glass-littered sill. "_Ferrix! Catch and kill!"_

Within seconds the mabari had circled to the back of the cabin and charged after the fleeing Crow. There probably wasn't a man or woman alive who could outrun a dog of his size, and the assassin knew it. He made a beeline for another cabin and attempted to scrabble up the side, but Ferrix snatched a dangling leg in his jaws and bore the elf back to earth.

Asleena didn't watch but turned to Zevran, who was pulling Asleena's dar'misaan from the corpse of the female Crow. There was a steady patter of blood against the floorboards from her pinned wrist.

"Are you all right?" she asked him quietly.

"Yes. I think so." She saw his throat work as he swallowed, and he didn't look at her. "I am sorry, Asleena. It was the first idea that came to me which might have a hope of saving my own skin and allow me to get close enough to warn you. I had to look…convincing. Forgive me."

Her body still tingled at the memory. She couldn't help noticing the play of sunlight across his bare skin as he wiped her sword clean, or the silken shifting of muscle under flesh as he retrieved the scabbard from the floor to slide the blade home. He was beautiful, she realised. Not that she'd ever doubted this, it was just that she rarely allowed herself to appreciate the view. Beautiful and clever and in love with her and…and alone with her…

She took a quick breath. "Zevran—"

"I know where Alistair is," he interrupted, holding out the sheathed dar'misaan to her.

She took the weapon wordlessly, stricken dumb, her heart almost freezing in her chest. She didn't know what to say to that, much less think.

"I promised I would tell you when I found out," Zevran went on, taking a grip on the dagger stuck in the wall and wrenching it free. The female assassin's arm flopped down from beneath its covering of hanging clothes. "The Crows knew, and they told me. I can take you to him…if you wish it." Finally, his eyes turned to hers, awaiting an answer.

It was Asleena's turn to swallow and glance aside, more than able to feel ashamed now that her ardour was fading. Zevran was smart enough to know she hadn't been thinking clearly…but also hopeful enough to give her an obvious opening in which to change her mind.

She thought of Alistair. She pictured him and her memories of him in her mind, seeing his dark eyes and ready grin, his broad shoulders and the reddening of his ears when she said something that made him blush…and knew she still loved him. She had come too far not to see him and talk to him.

"I do wish it," she said to Zevran...and it was almost an apology.

He handed over her dagger and nodded, his face betraying nothing. "Then so it shall be."


	38. Reunion

Not for the first time, Zevran found himself relieved that Asleena was wearing dragonbone armour. Had she been adorned in riding leathers he doubted his self-control would have held out as long as it had, or held out _now_ as the Grey Warden supported him to the Circle Tower for healing. He had always had a high level of pride that he could master himself when it came to things like lust and desire, a quality one needed for seduction lest one become the seduced. Only Rinna had ever been able to break through that wall, and he had killed her rather than acknowledge the reason why this should be so.

"_How do you do it?"_

"…_you have to figure it out yourself."_

As mages were called out to tend him and Ferrix, he wondered if he should be feeling particularly noble for stopping Asleena from speaking on before. Had she been anyone else, someone he didn't care for, they would be wrapped around each other right now and thinking of nothing but passion.

Things had been so much easier when he'd only looked out for himself and put his own pleasures first.

When the healing was completed he led Asleena and Ferrix to the northern outskirts of Starkhaven. The Crows had said Alistair was staying at The Red Oak, an inn and tavern set up specifically for those who had business with the Circle Tower but didn't want to sleep within its ancient stone walls. Its patrons were mainly those doing tasks for the Chantry, and as such it wasn't a frequent haunt for Starkhaven's hunters and trappers.

Halfway to their destination, Zevran noticed the change in Asleena's stride and expression and he knew she could sense her fellow Grey Warden. She glanced at him when she realised he was looking at her and nodded slightly, but said nothing. She did not look afraid or trepidatious. Perhaps enough time had finally passed between the Landsmeet and now that she was ready to face her lover and see this business done. Perhaps Zevran had given her less reason to dread that Alistair would reject her…

Well…it was beyond him now. Alistair and Asleena would have their confrontation, and how it ended would be up to them and the Maker. Zevran had helped her find him, as he'd promised he would.

The Red Oak itself was a two-storey establishment of wood and stone with a pleasant little balcony running around the ground level. Ferrix was left outside while Zevran and Asleena went within. The common room was deserted but for the tavern-keeper, two Templars and a mage who was in discussion with a pair of travellers. A wooden staircase led up to a railed area of open floor…Zevran judged that the common room extended that way, and while he couldn't hear anyone up there Asleena was staring in the same direction as though she _could_.

"I'll need to empty this place out," she murmured. "Chances are we'll be talking about Grey Warden secrets at some point, and I can't go blabbing them in public."

Zevran agreed and they both went to the tavern-keeper.

"So he _is _a Grey Warden?" the man remarked upon hearing Asleena's request to speak with Alistair in an empty tavern. "He got drunk enough last night to claim to be one, but when he started talking about being a prince as well I just started nodding and kept the ale flowing."

"How much has he had today?" Asleena asked quietly.

"A few, but he's been quiet so far. He's waiting for a mage to see him, so I wager he's trying to keep at least marginally sober until it gets late." He nodded at the table with the Templars, mage and travellers. "They'll be leaving in a couple more minutes, so I'll lock the door for you, Warden. Dead quiet today…I don't mind doing the Grey a favour and I can run some personal errands in the meantime."

True to his word, chairs were shortly scraping floorboards, hands were being shaken and the small party on the lower floor trooped out of the building. Asleena walked Zevran and the tavern-keeper to the door, silent until the two men were outside with Ferrix on the balcony.

"I'll see you soon, Zev," she said, and in those words he could just make out the tremor of her fear. When he could do nothing more than nod she turned away and started towards the wooden stairs.

"Asleena," he called quietly when her foot fell on the first step, then he went up to her when she paused and slowly turned back to face him.

A hundred things he could have said and _should _have said before this moment, but had been too afraid or arrogant to admit. A hundred things…ultimately _one _thing. But she knew. She had figured it out before she'd prompted his pathetic excuse for a confession. '_Affection'_…how completely and laughably inadequate a word…she had not accepted it, but for some reason she had still treated it like something fragile and precious.

Maybe nothing more needed to be said. She knew he would wait. She knew he would abide by whatever choice she made and still stand by her side, be it as lover or friend.

"Good luck," he said at last.

She inclined her head gravely. "Thank you."

They looked at each other a moment longer, then Zevran went outside and watched the tavern-keeper shut and lock the door. The man gave Zevran a shrug and strolled off south on whatever business he had.

Zevran lasted about two seconds gazing at the sky before going to glance through one of the front windows of The Red Oak. He endured Asleena's painfully slow ascent to the upper floor, then looked down at Ferrix and produced a scrap of dried meat—or it would have been dry had it not been in the river with Zevran earlier that day. With a careless toss, the assassin flicked the soggy treat and the mabari snatched it from the air with an eager snap of his jaws.

Another strip appeared, joined by a set of lockpicks. Zevran tilted the latter towards the door of the tavern and arched a meaningful brow at Ferrix. "Can I rely on your discretion, my friend?"

Ferrix glanced from door to assassin and whined.

"Ah, but you are perfectly capable of guarding the door by yourself, no?" Zevran flicked the meat over and set about picking the lock, which gave way easily. "And I promise not to interfere. You trust me, yes?"

The mabari glowered, having clearly not forgiven him for luring Asleena into a trap not even an hour ago, but a third meat strip convinced him to look in a different direction.

Zevran smiled to himself, slipped inside and shut the door with not a sound to mark his passage.

* * *

It took Asleena a while to prise her fingers from the banister once she reached the second floor, and her heart was beating loudly enough to make her believe she'd scaled a mountain. She stood there for at least a minute, head turned in the direction of the furthest of the small square tables where a lone man in battered splint mail sat.

The sound of her footsteps and the clink of her armour echoed in the empty tavern, but Alistair did not seem to notice her approach. Besides a slight hunch to his shoulders and a sleepless shadow beneath his eyes he looked much the same as she remembered. He sat with his forearms resting along the tabletop and hands clasped around a tankard, staring sightlessly into his drink. His sword hung sheathed across the back of his chair and a wooden shield, Dalish make by its looks, rested against its legs. His mother's amulet dangled loose against his armoured chest rather than being tucked away beneath clothes…she felt a small pang at the sight of it. Despite saying he'd wanted nothing more to do with the people of Ferelden, he'd been unable to get rid of the necklace Arl Eamon had painstakingly pieced back together and Asleena had returned to him.

"_I thought I'd lost this to my own stupidity…"_

Asleena stopped nearby, having failed to draw his attention even though she was now fewer than five feet away. It was funny…all her agonising over what to say to him and the one thing she had never considered was how to say 'Hello'.

_Holy Maker, Blessed Andraste…please help me say the right things…_

She went to the chair opposite him and sat down, making sure she made _just_ enough noise dragging it across the floor. Finally, his dark eyes lifted and regarded her…

…with a total lack of surprise.

"You're early," he said.

"I am?" she replied, nonplussed.

Alistair glanced back down at his drink, lifted it and took a swallow. "It usually takes a few more of these before you start showing up. Then a few more before you go away."

"Alistair, I'm really here."

"Of course it depends what I'm drinking. There was this Nevarran mead I tried in Markham City—"

Asleena pulled off a gauntlet, reached across the table and put her hand against one of his larger ones.

"—could have used it to strip paint, and I had serious thoughts about sneaking some into the Chantry's consecrated wine just to…oh."

"I'm not early," Asleena said when he spoke no further. "I'm _late_. I should have run after you as soon as you left the Landsmeet."

There was a long pause and then Alistair was extricating his hand from hers. Asleena stared at where her fingers now lay abandoned atop the table, swallowed and slowly pulled back.

"Why didn't you?" Alistair invited quietly, watching her. "Too busy putting Loghain through the Joining and his daughter on the throne?"

She stiffened, took a firm grip on her temper and breathed out slowly. She shouldn't have mentioned the Landsmeet so quickly. "Can we…_please_…just talk first before throwing knives at each other?" she asked. "Please, Alistair…I didn't follow you all the way across the Free Marches to get into a fight with you. I…love you."

Dark brown eyes glanced away from her. "I didn't think you still would, after…" A flash of bitterness, pain and regret crossed his features. "I had such terrible dreams when I left you," he said slowly. "I still do. It's why…" He made a small gesture towards the tankard. "If it was just darkspawn nightmares it wouldn't have been so bad, but it was _you_, Asleena. I kept dreaming of you battling the Blight and going up against the archdemon, and me not…being there to help you. Sometimes it killed you or darkspawn did. Sometimes Loghain stabbed you in the back." His throat worked. "I'm glad you're alive."

The ache in her heart lessened a fraction. He didn't hate her, at least.

"The others…?" Alistair asked.

"They survived, except for Riordan. My brother is alive too." She hesitated. "And Loghain is dead."

"Fell in battle, huh?"

"He died killing the archdemon."

"Oh? Great. So he's a war hero again instead of a traitor? Are they melting the bronze down for a statue of him yet?" Alistair's voice had an edge of caustic jest to it, but when Asleena bit her lip he stared at her. "They _are _making a statue of him, aren't they? Wow." He sat back in his chair. "So that's how it is? Betray your king, get a whole lot of people killed, murdered and tortured, get a monument raised in your honour."

"It's not like Loghain _asked _for a statue," Asleena muttered.

"Yes, I'm sure the benevolent Queen Anora would have had one put up no matter if he died heroically or as he _deserved_." Alistair glared at her and folded his arms. "That's the point though, isn't it? People will remember him as the Grey Warden who ended the Blight, not a murdering criminal."

"He admitted he'd made mistakes," she said, and felt a bit ill to hear herself defending Loghain. "He didn't have to die either—Morrigan had a way out for all of us. He _wanted _to give his life to make up for what he'd done. He told me so."

"Then you should have killed him at the Landsmeet!" Alistair snapped. "Or let _me _do it! I would have been _happy_ to see him give his life to make up for his treachery."

Asleena's hands clenched and her heart pounded savagely in her ears. "He yielded," she said in the coldest voice she could manage. "You expected me to kill him after surrendering? We'd beaten him, Alistair, politically _and _in personal combat! Wasn't he defeated enough for you?"

"Come on, it's not like you've spared everyone who begged for mercy. What about that Tevinter slaver in the Alienage? You didn't see fit to let _him _live!"

"That was different and you know it," she snarled. "Maker's breath…the man tried to bargain for his life by offering to kill his prisoners and use their life energies to fuel mine! If I'd let him go he'd have just gone off and terrorised someone else. Loghain at least could be useful, like Riordan said! And he _was_."

"Right, dying in battle fighting the archdemon, you said. Very useful. I could have done that without even trying," Alistair said, not noticing or not caring about the disbelieving stare this earned. "We didn't need him, Asleena. I don't care how useful he was…you can't sit there and tell me that what he'd done during the Blight wasn't _evil. _He didn't deserve to live after all the death he allowed, and he certainly didn't deserve the honour of being a Grey Warden after he tried to wipe us all out."

"He admitted he was wrong," Asleena repeated, gritting her teeth.

"Turning left by mistake at a crossroads instead of right? That's wrong. Putting peas in your soup instead of carrots like the recipe says? That's wrong too. Getting an entire army _slaughtered _by darkspawn then setting _us _up as the culprits? 'Wrong' doesn't begin to cover it! He deserved _justice_ and instead he'll be revered. And _me_—" Alistair stopped abruptly, threw a frown to one side then muttered, "Well, look at me. I lost my mentor, my friends, my country and my love. How is that fair?"

"You can come _back_. I came here to try and talk you into returning." Asleena leaned forwards but resisted the impulse to reach across the table again. "Look…I know you were angry but it's over now—"

"It's not, you know. Over. Loghain will be remembered as the Grey Warden who saved Ferelden, and I'll be remembered as the man who abandoned his oaths right before the archdemon showed up. Do you think anyone in Ferelden would welcome me?"

"We don't…" Asleena took a breath to brace herself and steeled her heart against thinking of home. "We don't have to go back. Wherever you want to go I'll go with you. Anywhere."

Alistair said nothing for a moment, just watching her as though sorely tempted to accept her offer. But then he rubbed his eyes and shook his head. "No. I…I love you for coming this far and trying to talk this through, but no. You chose Loghain and Anora…not me."

"I don't _care _about Loghain and Anora! I didn't side with her because I didn't love you, I did it because we'd made a deal—a deal _you _were party to! You didn't want to be king and she did everything we asked to help us against he own damn father. She denounced him at the Landsmeet to his _face_ and all she asked was that we support her as queen and be merciful to him."

"Making him a Grey Warden was a reward, not _mercy_!" Alistair retorted, his anger returning.

"So you would have betrayed our agreement with Anora just to see Loghain executed?" Asleena snapped back. "And when you were king, then what? Would you have killed Anora as well? Would you have expected me to stick around court after that or…or have me replace her as queen?"

"What? _No!_ You couldn't be queen anyway. Grey Wardens can't have children with each other so I'd have had to marry someone—" Alistair froze when he realised what he was saying then stared at Asleena in horror. "Oh, _Maker_. Wait, I didn't mean—"

"You would have _dumped _me?" she whispered accusingly.

"No! I mean, if I'd become…_Damn_!" He paled and held up both hands as she began to swell with fury. "I wasn't thinking, all right? I didn't consider that until afterwards!"

"But you _would _have," she hissed angrily. "You would have taken the throne and sent me away so you could have your revenge on Loghain!"

"If you'd have killed him in the first place I never would have _suggested _being king! You know I didn't want to be and yes, it would have been a mistake. I'm sorry, is that what you want to hear?"

"What I want to hear is that you understand and accept my reasons for doing what I did," Asleena said, calming a bit. "It wasn't my idea to make Loghain a Grey Warden. I wanted him to face a fair trial and get his chance for mercy that way—"

"What kind of fair trial do you think he would have received with _her _as queen?" Alistair interrupted.

"Will you shut up and let me finish?" she snapped. He subsided with a frown. "Maybe he wouldn't have gotten a fair trial," she admitted. "But I wasn't about to kill him after he surrendered, and I wasn't going to let you do it either. Not in front of Anora."

He let out an impatient growl. "Why by Andraste's name _not_?"

"Because she's his _daughter_, you idiot!" Asleena shouted, her chair falling backwards as she jumped up and braced her fists on the table, trembling with rage. "You wanted to kill him in front of his own daughter_, _and no one deserves to see the father they love _die_ before their eyes!"

Alistair went completely white, his mouth opening and shutting. He knew how Duncan had conscripted her into the Grey, and for a moment he looked utterly taken aback, ashamed and on the verge of saying he understood…but the words that popped out of his mouth were: "Forgive me for not having a lot of sympathy for the woman who ordered my _head be chopped off_."

She stared at him as the echoes died then straightened, withdrawing her hands, and looked away from him. Fury and hurt seethed in her heart and made her stomach ache. "I guess I wasted my time coming here after all," she said in a voice that shook in spite of her efforts to sound calm. "I had all these things I wanted to say about what could have happened if you'd got your way…but what's the point? You wanted revenge, not justice. You wanted him destroyed, not dead…why would you care if any good came of sparing him?

"I had more reason than you to want to make Loghain pay, Alistair. Howe might have been the one to send his soldiers through Highever, but Loghain sanctioned it. You lost people you'd known for six months…well guess what? I lost people I'd known my entire life. Riordan had been _tortured _and he still had the grace to give Loghain a chance.

"I love you. Maker help me, I probably always will. But if you'd rather wallow in your hatred of Loghain and Anora than accept you might have overreacted…" She shook her head and gave him the last words she'd received from his lips. "Take care of yourself."

"Asleena, wait," Alistair said in a strained voice. He shot to his feet as she began to walk away and grabbed her shoulder. "Don't leave."

"Let me go," she told him tonelessly.

"Look, I've had a few to drink and some of the things I've said—"

"If you don't let me go I swear I will run you through."

Alistair let his hand drop to his side. At the same time there was a soft noise from the ground floor, like wood creaking. Both Wardens glanced over the railing at the door, saw it was shut and thought nothing more of it.

"You have Duncan's shield with you," Alistair noted irrelevantly.

"Ferrix found it in a Denerim market."

"Oh." Alistair hesitated. "He came with you, of course. Did anyone else? I…wouldn't mind saying hello to people. If that's all right. I've missed…everyone," he finished lamely, and even after all the words that had been spat across the table a moment ago the way he looked at her still ached. She hated that she could be so angry with him yet still be a slave to that gaze. She despised she could hurt so much at his leaving her, but somehow feel pain for _his_ loneliness.

It made no sense. Love made no sense.

"Zevran came," she said finally.

His face clouded. "Zevran? _Just _Zevran?"

"Yes, _just Zevran_." Asleena frowned at him and folded her arms. "Go on," she challenged when he stared at her in open dismay. "_Ask_."

"I only thought…Wynne or Leliana might have cared," he said quietly, looking wounded.

It wasn't what she'd expected to hear, and it made her ache even more with shared pain. "Yeah," she muttered. "Tell me about it. I didn't…I didn't tell them I was going after you, though. Maybe they would have..." She sighed. "I can call Zev up if you seriously wanted to say something to him. He fought the archdemon by my side, you know."

Alistair flinched visibly at that. "I'm sorry, Asleena," he said, and he actually sounded reasonable this time. "Listen…I came to Starkhaven for a reason and I…I really want to see this through considering I bailed on the Blight and…on you. There's a demon possession down near the city of Ostwick and I need a mage to fix it, like with Connor. Once I organise that and stop drinking so damn much maybe we can try this talk again?"

He was looking at her hopefully and sincerely, and she could only return it with a rising sense of despair.

"The demon possession you're talking about…isn't there any more, Alistair."

"What do you…mean? Somebody else fixed it? Wait…how do you even know about it?"

"We followed your trail past Ostwick and ran into the same problem," Asleena said quietly. She wanted to shut up or lie, but couldn't. She was hanging over the earthwound again and waiting for the inevitable fall…

"You had a mage with you?"

"No…"

He stared at her like she'd suddenly turned into a darkspawn and took a step back. "You _killed_ her. You killed that girl. How could you do that? Loghain's worth 'giving a chance' but not some poor woman who's done no wrong?"

"You don't understand. You weren't _there_."

"You know what?" Alistair said, sitting down and picking up his tankard. "I don't want to hear any more. I'm sure you had your reasons. You always do," he finished snidely.

"If you'd just hear me out this time—"

"How many of the villagers did it throw at you before you got to the host?" he asked suddenly, his eyes narrowing while hers widened in shock. "How many _more _did you kill?"

"It's not that simple," she exclaimed, and something inside her finally broke and bled. "You always think it is, like the solution is one plain and easy answer, but it's _not! _It must be so wonderful for you sitting back while others lead and make the hard choices, all so _you _don't have to live with the consequences of any mistakes!"

"What _consequences_ do you have to live with?" he growled. "You united Ferelden, you have a home to return to…you're a _hero, _for Andraste's sake."

"I lost _you!_" Asleena flung at him bitterly. "I lost you…"

The hands wrapped around his tankard trembled and his jaw tightened, but he did not look at her. Asleena waited until the silence filled her soul…then turned away and stumbled down the stairs alone.

When she got outside only Ferrix was there to greet her. She rubbed the tears from her face and figured in a numb, empty sort of way that it was just as well. Had Zevran been there…Maker. He was probably giving her space so she didn't have the chance do anything she'd regret. By the feel of things she'd need at least a week.

"We're going home," she told Ferrix softly.

He wagged his tail a bit, but then looked at the door and whined.

Asleena shook her head and stepped from the balcony, heading away. "He's not coming with us."

* * *

Zevran waited until she had moved off from the window before standing. He frowned after her, considered the upper floor a moment, then made his way behind the bar and managed, with a minimum of noise, to pour himself a glass of fine wine. Checking to see that his weapons were in order (the fortuitous demise of fellow assassins had given him opportunity to claim a replacement sword), he crept across the floor, up the stairs and towards Alistair's table as stealthily as only he could be.

The ex-Templar was seated with his face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking, and it was obvious the man-child wept. This suited Zevran perfectly. He had seen the tears on Asleena's cheeks as she'd fled the building and it was only _justice _that Alistair share that pain. In Zevran's mind, however, Alistair wasn't hurting anywhere near enough.

Silently, he righted the chair Asleena had toppled earlier in her anger. He eased himself into the seat, readied himself for maximum effect, then lifted both legs and brought his booted feet slamming down atop the table.

Thus it was that when Alistair's head jerked up to stare, he was faced with Zevran Arainai, chair tilted back ever-so-slightly, a pristine glass of expensive red held in one hand, and gold-glinted eyes relishing the surprise at his appearance.

"I heard something about you wanting to say 'hello', my friend," the assassin said, and smiled pleasantly. "Miss me?"


	39. Reprisal

_Author's Note: Now would be an excellent time to check out an awesome piece of art produced by Aimo (Irma Ahmed), called "Unwelcomed". It was drawn for that scene right at the end of chapter 38 and for _PC Powerplay's _'XX Generation' column. You can find the link in my profile under the bolded section for _The Hunt_. Thanks to Aimo, and _PC Powerplay_'s Meghann O'Neill! You both do fantastic work!_

* * *

For a long time there was no noise. Zevran sat in his contrived pose while Alistair simply stared at him from a grief-ravaged face, neither moving nor speaking.

Zevran did not have a great deal of respect for the ex-Templar, and suspected the feeling was probably mutual. Alistair saw Zevran as Zevran intended himself to be seen: killer, lover and thief. Born of a whore, raised as an assassin…a man who thrived on bloodshed and sex and who cared for little more out of life. This, of course, _was_ a great deal of Zevran's makeup, but not all of it. The rest was hidden or buried, forgotten, masked as he had been trained or drilled out of him while still young under the gentle hands of the Crows.

…for assassins were undesirable if they possessed certain qualities. Compassion, for instance, bred hesitance and mercy, and there was no use for a hired killer who might spare his prey. Crow training weeded these emotions out, stripping the spirit bare before breaking and reforging it.

On the other side of the table, there was Alistair. His childhood protected by an arl and his upbringing within the stifling confines of the Chantry teaching him everything about morality and how to be a gentleman, but not how to be a _man_ or how the outside world worked.

Where Zevran had been trained to keep his emotions in check to survive, Alistair wore his heart on his sleeve. Anger, sadness, joy, gratitude, pity, wrath…he hid none of them. He had even kissed _her _that one time, completely out of the blue, no careful questioning beforehand of whether she would welcome it or not. He was as impulsive as Zevran was calculated. He could speak his heart while Zevran had been taught never to trust it.

But their lives did have certain similarities. Neither had known their parents. Both had ended up being trained by organisations while still young. And they had both been rescued from those less-than-happy lives by a Grey Warden.

They watched each other.

Alistair eventually wiped his face and leaned back in his chair.

"I suppose I chased her straight into your arms," he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

"I assure you, my friend," Zevran replied, "had the fair Asleena run out that door and into my arms, my mouth would be far too busy to take the time to exchange pleasantries with you."

"…you were already inside. I heard you. We both did."

"Did you now?" Zevran twirled the glass idly, thinking. "Ah. This was when she threatened to kill you if you didn't let her go, yes?"

"You listened to the whole thing?" Alistair asked in a harder voice.

"Let us just say that it was an excellent decision to release her when you did, my friend."

Brown eyes, almost the colour of chocolate, narrowed further. "You think I would have _hurt _her?"

Zevran chuckled sardonically. "Ah, I see. I must have mistaken her teary-faced exit as some kind of Ferelden dance of joy. How foolish of me to think you could _possibly_ do anything to cause her pain."

Silence reigned again. Alistair's face still bore the tell-tale signs of anger, but now it was tempered with guilt and regret. He averted his eyes from Zevran's.

"Why are you here?" he asked in a defeated voice. "I don't have enough daggers in me to suit your tastes?"

Zevran had to smile at that, and took the first sip of his wine. "And what, precisely, would you know of my tastes?"

"Why are you bothering with me when she's out there? You've never made a secret of your interest in her."

"There is no rush. We assassin types are patient, and hunger, as they say, is the best sauce." Zevran smiled, eyes half-closing. "I have no idea how long it has been for _you_, my friend, but Asleena…ah, she has been waiting a long time. For the wrong man, it would seem."

The brief glimpse of protective fury at Zevran's implications he intended to make his move, and at his complete leisure, was chased away by a flinch of pain.

"But if you prefer," Zevran began, swinging his feet down to the floor and making to rise, but Alistair looked at him sharply.

"No! I—Stay."

"Such an invitation. How could I refuse?" He relaxed back into the chair, but kept his feet on the floor this time. "What shall we discuss then? The weather, perhaps? It is much warmer here than in Ferelden, don't you agree?"

Alistair stared at him, swallowed, then said, "She said you fought with her against the archdemon."

"Indeed I did. Shall I describe the battle for you?"

"And…and you were the only one who came with her to the Free Marches," Alistair went on, ignoring the invitation to detail what he'd missed. "Besides Ferrix."

"Again you are correct! Astonishing."

"You didn't…you weren't…" Alistair was looking worried as he searched for a way to say…whatever he was trying to say. "That mining village near Ostwick. _You _weren't the one who killed—?"

"—the girl with the demon possession and the villagers who got in the way?" Zevran finished, and laughed aloud. "Because I am an assassin, yes?"

"Wellll…yes." Alistair paused. "Did you?"

"Sadly, you were right the first time. Asleena killed the host—and one other. A little girl, if I recall." Zevran allowed himself another sip of wine, observing Alistair's sagging expression. Not anger, as he'd displayed to Asleena, but a sad weariness… "The child was a complete accident, of course," Zevran went on in a conversational tone. "Asleena tried to knock her out, to protect her you see, but such a thing is not easy with the young." He tsked. "Poor thing died the next morning. Simply tragic. I'm sure you can imagine how upset Asleena was at the way that turned out."

Alistair looked satisfyingly like a man who'd eaten something his stomach wasn't agreeing with. "And the demon?" he asked slowly. "That was…you're not going to tell me that was an accident too?"

"Oh no, my friend. No accident. Sword straight through the heart!"

"Oh…"

"She did it to save me," Zevran pressed on mercilessly, making a show of admiring the ruby colour of his drink. He chuckled then. "Hah, yes. The demon had me chained from the roof in a wine cellar, and was draining my blood into glasses much like these. It would have killed me…long before anyone arranged a mage to stop by." Golden-brown eyes slanted towards Alistair. "But this is not important, surely? I distinctly remember you not wanting to hear the reasons behind Asleena's appalling behaviour."

"But—" Alistair's face was a picture of agony.

"Now, now…you were correct! She killed that girl and at least one innocent villager. A helpless child! Completely unforgivable, yes?" He cocked his head. "This may be inappropriate, my friend, but the Chantry didn't happen to be offering a reward for dealing with that mess, did it?"

"How could you even _ask _that?"

"Are you telling me you wouldn't have claimed it? Something has to pay for the alcohol, am I right?"

Alistair glared dully at his tankard, which sat forgotten to one side of the table, but his thoughts were obviously elsewhere. Zevran had no doubt given him plenty to consider—namely how asinine he'd been.

The assassin took another sip of his wine, absently staring at the crack-sewn silver amulet Alistair wore. He knew its history, of course. Alistair himself had spoken of it, saying it had belonged to his mother. He had broken it in a fit of childish pique over Arl Eamon bundling him off to the Templars…

_Hm…_

A plan unfolded. Something reckless and vengeful in the heart Zevran so often ignored wanted to drive certain points home, and if he couldn't do it with a blade, well…this would do. This would _definitely _do.

"You said you wanted to know why I am here," Zevran said, drawing the other man's eyes. "I wish to tell you what I think of you."

"Really. Because I'm pretty sure I don't want to hear it." Alistair frowned, but not at the assassin. "I think I _know _what you think of me."

"Oh, I may surprise you."

"No, I can guess," he muttered. "You're going to say, 'Alistair, you're an idiot,' or 'Alistair, you have an intelligence comparable to a block of cheese.'"

Zevran sighed long and deep. "Such an unfair assessment of my thoughts. I would never say you were an idiot to your face, my friend, and I have no intention of comparing you or your intelligence to cheese."

The reason being_,_ he thought in the privacy of his own head, was that cheese could mature.

"To be completely honest," Zevran went on, "I have never been very good at telling people plainly what I think of them. It is not a good survival trait amongst Crows, you see. If we went around telling the masters what charming people we thought they were…" Zevran chuckled. "Better to be friends with everyone, no?

"So I will tell you what I think of you in my own special way. It must be cushioned with some sort of story, an elaborate tapestry that explains my precise feelings for you."

"You're…serious?" Alistair looked at him dubiously. "You can't just give me a straight answer and get it over with? It's really not that difficult."

Zevran set down his glass and stood, circling the table to stand behind Alistair. He placed both hands on the man's shoulders in a companionable way and smiled when he felt muscles tense beneath armour. "The story I have in mind should be simple enough to understand, my friend," he said, sliding his fingers up to the ex-Templar's neck, as though preparing to give him a massage. "Do I…have your leave to continue?"

"…with the _story_. Anything else would be…weird. Can you stop that?" He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably.

The Antivan sighed and undid the catch of Alistair's necklace in a deft motion, whisking it away and palming the amulet without its owner noticing. "As you wish." He paced a few safe steps from the table, just enough distance so that if Alistair made a sudden move he'd have enough time to get out of the way.

"Imagine for a moment," Zevran said, spreading his arms and smiling like an actor on a stage, "that I am you."

Alistair snorted in disbelief. "This is your story? Imagining you're me?"

"Indeed. And now, imagine _this_"—he let Alistair's mother's amulet dangle free from his hand with a delicate jingle of chain—"is Asleena."

"Hang on, that looks like—" Alistair froze, peered more closely at the amulet, rubbed a hand against the spot it had previously rested, then got to his feet with an angry growl. "_You_—"

"—are you!" Zevran took a careful step backwards, still grinning. "And this is her." He lifted the amulet slightly, examining it. "This has been broken in the past, yes? Did you do that?" _Now _he dropped the smile.

"You know I did," Alistair said, advancing as slowly as Zevran was retreating.

"And someone else cared enough to take great pains trying and make it whole and beautiful again. Then it was returned to you. It was yours, so you got it back."

Alistair's approach paused, his brows knitting into a frown. It was hard to tell whether the man knew what was going on or if Zevran was merely speaking too quickly.

"I am you, this is her," Zevran repeated, wanting to be sure he was understood. "She is returned to you…and what do you do?"

Flipping the amulet back up into his palm, Zevran turned his back on the ex-Templar, brought his arm back and hurled the necklace at the wall with as much strength as he could put into it. Alistair managed to push past Zevran's shoulder and give voice to a strangled cry before the fragile piece of jewellery struck stone and fragments of silver frosted the wooden floor.

The warrior stood there, staring speechlessly at the wreckage. Zevran, positioned a little behind him now, watched him carefully for a moment for any reaction before shrugging to himself and dusting his hands, the motion loud and measured.

"So you see—" he began.

The blow came without warning. It was easy not to take someone like Alistair seriously, because he was so rarely serious. This made it simple to underestimate how far he would go when truly angered, as Asleena had learned at the Landsmeet.

Alistair spun, his bare fist flying around and catching Zevran smack against the side of his face. There was enough force behind it to knock the assassin off his feet, and Zevran saw tiny little flashing lights explode behind one eye before he hit the ground, dazed and with the wind knocked out of him by landing on his stomach. He distantly felt his scavenged sword ripped from the scabbard across his back before a booted foot rolled him over and planted itself firmly against his chest, holding him where he lay.

Zevran screwed his face up, trying to restore some feeling to one half of it, then consciously relaxed his body and lay still, looking up the cold length of an Antivan blade and into the furious eyes of the man who professed to love Asleena.

"That," the assassin said quietly, not a smile to be seen, "_that_, my good friend Alistair, is a very good portrayal of what I think of you."


	40. Fragments

_I need time, Zev. I'm sorry. If you don't catch up on the road I hope I will see you at Highever one day._

_~Asleena_

She had left the note pinned to his saddlebags. Others she'd tried to find the words for had been screwed up and stuffed to the bottom of her own. Some had sounded too desperate, some too cold. One had been ruined by tearstains.

Goodbyes were not her strong point.

She, Galahan and Sindel left Starkhaven not long after the confrontation in The Red Oak. The two elves had already been in the stables when Asleena and Ferrix turned up, and they had known by the look on her face that something was wrong. She had told them the bare minimum: that Alistair would not be coming with them, that Zevran would catch up at some point, that the rest of them would be leaving immediately. Sindel had looked the most grieved at the news and started to ask questions, only to be stopped by Galahan.

"Not now. Give her time," he had said, touching Sindel's shoulder and glancing to Asleena, but questions and sadness had shone in his eyes as well. Alistair had been Galahan's friend, she remembered, and a bond had been steadily strengthening with Zevran.

She was not the only one leaving people she cared for behind.

* * *

The remainder of that first day, riding south into the Wildervale, was the hardest. The two new Wardens respected her unspoken request for privacy, but it was not the solitude this afforded her that hurt, rather the love the two elves had for each other. They were not obvious about it, but it showed in little ways. Inflection of voice, a smile here, a passing caress there…

The heart-breaking agony of loss returned in full. It had been felt back in Ferelden after the Landsmeet, usually when she'd looked around camp expecting to see him near the fire, or the nights when Ferrix had refused to eat or sleep and kept vigil instead, staring away from the cluster of tents and waiting for the missing member of their group to return. Then the lonely nights in her bedroll, where Alistair had come to her in dreams only to leave when she opened her eyes in the hopes that _this time_ he really was lying beside her.

The problem on the first night was that it was effectively Galahan and Sindel's wedding night. Asleena couldn't very well ask them _not _to have their first night of intimacy, and on a personal level, for Sindel's sake especially, she _wanted_ them to enjoy it.

So she deliberately volunteered herself to stand guard all night and quashed any objections with brittle cheer. They thanked her, and she watched over the small camp with Ferrix at her side.

With the wind rushing through the night-darkened grasses of the Wildervale and the unmistakable sounds coming from the tent the Dalish shared, Asleena found it more and more difficult not to keep looking back north at the distant darkness of the forests obscuring Starkhaven, in case Zevran or maybe even Alistair would emerge from the black.

But when dawn finally stained colour into the dark horizon she was still standing by herself, and feeling more alone than ever.

* * *

Several days passed, riding across the grasslands and heading towards Markham. Over time, and with great care, the elves had gradually managed to coax Asleena into revealing what had happened at Starkhaven between her and Alistair. While she often couldn't remember exactly what had been said in the heat of the argument, she'd been able to relate enough of it to give an honest account. And she felt a bit better for getting it off her chest.

Sindel did her best to offer comfort and diversion, and Asleena made an effort not to mope—while the elves were around, at least. For Galahan's part, he revealed very little about his thoughts regarding what had happened. In fact, it only came up once, two days ride from the city. He pulled his horse, Zevran's horse, up next to Asleena's as they rode at a walk, and said simply: "You don't have to worry about him."

Asleena had been watching Sindel circling above them as a hawk, wings flirting with the breeze, but every ten minutes or so her eyes turned northwest, hoping to see more than golden grass and heat-haze.

"I don't like it that I left him in Starkhaven," she said. "With a sodding _note._"

"Zevran will understand your reasons."

"I know. I just…don't like that it felt necessary." She turned her gaze to the wagon trail they were following. Ferrix was trotting ahead of the horses, pausing often to sniff at or pee on some otherwise unremarkable feature of the grassy landscape. "I don't like feeling as though I abandoned him," she tried to explain, "when he was the only one who didn't leave _me _in Denerim."

Galahan nodded. "I can sympathise with that. But as I said, he will understand. If he was not where you left him, outside the tavern like you said, it may have been his intention to give you space, whether or not Alistair came with you. He is a clever man."

"I was…thinking of Alistair, too."

He looked at her, quizzically.

"I was thinking…about all the things we said and shouted. I keep trying to remember if I apologised for how the Landsmeet turned out." She stared ahead, one hand fidgeting on the reins. "I know I meant to…but I don't know if I did. Right or wrong, I wanted to ask his forgiveness. It felt so important that I do that when I was trying to track him down…"

"It's the nature of arguments. Things are said that are not meant, or said in haste. Other things are not said when they should have been."

"Was there…anything Alistair wanted to say but didn't?"

Galahan shook his head. "I am not the one to ask about that. I'm sorry."

She sighed. "I wish…we could have had that second talk. Even if he didn't come back to Ferelden, I…really wanted to make sure he'd be all right on his own. He's seen I'm alive though, so maybe he'll stop drinking?" She glanced hopefully at him.

"Maybe you're right." Galahan looked up to where his wife flew above them. "And I, too, wish you could have spoken a second time. I believe it would have gone better for both of you. You love each other, neither of you really wanted to be apart from the other, and while you were both angry…you still cared."

Asleena tried to force back the bitter feelings those words stoked, and didn't trust herself to reply. It was still too soon.

* * *

They stopped at Markham, but did not stay long. Asleena didn't want to linger in the city after what had happened last time, and didn't know if Teyrn Ramvor would take kindly to her return even if Zevran was absent.

Besides a brief stop at the market to pick up some feed for the horses and food to get them through the mountains to Ostwick, Asleena visited the Chantry.

There had been a reward offered for ending the 'cannibal' threat in the Vimmark.

She claimed every last coin.

* * *

Three days later they reached the mining village, passage faster than last time due to being mounted. It looked abandoned at first, but then a couple of wary faces peered out of windows and one of the villagers, a miner she recognised from the previous visit, emerged from his house.

"The Grey Warden," he said, and chuckled with unexpected warmth. "I did not think we'd see you again."

Asleena dismounted and shook the large hand he stuck out. "Loren. I was heading back to Ferelden…thought I'd stop by to give this to your village." She took the purse of gold she's picked up in Markham and pushed it into his startled grasp. "Courtesy of the Chantry. I figured it might help you rebuild."

"I—thank you," he stammered, staring at the contents.

"I know it won't replace lost lives. I'm sorry…that I can't do more."

He sighed deeply and nodded. "It will help us hire hands from Ostwick and purchase supplies to get us through Winter. We relied on the mine and forge to trade for goods and coin, but yes…what we lack right now is manpower." Patting the pouch of gold, he said, "With this we won't starve, Warden, and it will make bringing new faces in easier now we can pay people to work. You have our thanks. For this and our lives."

"I wish—"

He waved a thick finger before her eyes. "Ah, ah, ah! I know. Don't say it. I've had a bellyful of wishing, and it did me no good. You did your best under the circumstances. Not a man or woman here should ask for more'n that." The miner's blue eyes took in Galahan and Sindel and he grunted. "Where's that elf who was with you last time?"

Asleena introduced the Dalish, then said, "Zevran, who you saw before, isn't with us right now."

"Hm." Loren chewed his lip. "I guess this means I won't have to tell him to keep away from my daughter." He eyed Galahan, brows lowering. "You, on the other hand—"

"He'll behave," Sindel said firmly.

"Yes, my love," Galahan murmured with a faint smile.

Loren grinned. "Good." He looked at Asleena. "You're staying for lunch, Warden. No arguments. Least I can do, and don't look so surprised." He waved a hand for them to follow back to his house. "I know last time wasn't the warmest welcome we could have given you and I regret that, so let me make it up to you before you head back over the Waking Sea."

* * *

No one greeted them at the docks of Denerim, for no one had known they were coming. As they disembarked, bidding the captain thanks and farewell, Asleena wondered how many people would even recognise her more than a month after her abrupt disappearance. Few to none, she hoped. In fact, the Dalish drew more stares and whispers than she did.

"They're not going to mob us, are they?" Sindel asked uncomfortable, keeping her voice low.

Asleena shook her head. "I doubt it. Some of your clans fought to free Denerim from the darkspawn." She grinned. "They probably think you're war heroes."

"What about you?"

"I'm just showing you the sights." She rubbed Ferrix's head absently as she glanced around. They no longer had the horses with them, as the captain hadn't been willing to transport the larger animals. "We have to go to the palace. There's another Joining I have to see through, and I should check in with the Orlesian Wardens. I'll probably have to pay my respects to Anora as well," she added reluctantly.

She didn't dislike the queen, but it was hard to feel much warmth for the woman. Asleena doubted she'd ever really forgive Anora for trying to have Alistair executed, just as Anora would always remember Alistair's attempt on her father.

They made it to the palace untroubled, through streets still bearing the scars of the siege, and noticing one or two patrols of Orlesian chevaliers bolstering Denerim's own guard. It occurred to Asleena that Loghain would have been livid at the sight. She didn't care, personally, but then she had not been alive during Orlais' occupation of Ferelden.

At the gates she was recognised and ushered inside. Anora, she was told, was currently seeing to state business but would be informed of her arrival as soon as possible. While that was being seen to, Asleena, Galahan, Sindel and Ferrix could be taken to the small complement of Grey Wardens that had remained in Denerim.

The bulk of the Grey who had come from Orlais were roaming Ferelden and helping to stamp out the darkspawn or chase them back into the Deep Roads. Perhaps twenty had gone to Amaranthine, which had been granted to the order, and only five were in Denerim to answer nearby threats.

With those five, of course, was Xai Merras.

* * *

"He is most capable," the Senior Warden, Pierre, told Asleena privately. "I have watched him spar with the others and fight darkspawn. He is a demon with those twin swords of his, and he can follow orders. If he survives the Joining I believe he will be a strong addition to the order."

"What has his behaviour been like?" she asked. "What do you think of his personality?"

Pierre regarded her with a curious expression. "His behaviour has been impeccable as far as I am aware. He listens a great deal and does not speak much about himself, but I confess I don't ask many personal questions of recruits before they are fully initiated."

"I'd like to get that done as soon as possible, actually. Can we do it today?"

"Certainly, sister. I can prepare it myself." Pierre was a mage. "I will secure a private room for the ceremony and send a messenger when we can begin."

She thanked him and returned to the training room. Galahan and Sindel were there, leaning against a wall and watching as Xai sparred with two Wardens simultaneously. She had to admit the assassin was a sight to behold as he ducked and wove between his attackers, deflecting and parrying, almost as though it was some kind of dance. He did not attack, as for this exercise he had challenged either of the Wardens to land a telling blow upon him, but he _did _move in just such a way as to get them to occasionally stumble against or even come close to striking one another.

"He uses their movements against them," Galahan noted to Asleena, observing the combat closely. "You told me of him a while ago. He does this with words as well as swords?"

"He manipulated people quite well in Markham," she replied.

"An interesting man."

She smiled. "That wouldn't have been the word I'd have chosen."

"Doubtless." The hunter looked thoughtful. "I hope he survives the Joining. Conversational possibilities aside…I would be interested to see if he can dodge my bow."

"All right, _that _I would love to see." She watched a while longer then said softly, "Actually, I would have loved to have seen him spar with Zevran."

Sindel looked at the floor and Galahan nodded once. "Me too."

When the training completed (one of the Wardens finally got a lucky hit in), Asleena drew Xai aside for a chat.

"How has it felt so far?" she asked him.

"Surprisingly good, Commander," he said. "I enjoy using my swords as they were intended. I'd almost forgotten what killing felt like."

Asleena wasn't quite sure she'd heard him right. "You were a master assassin. Isn't killing what you did? Or was it all arranging political marriages after you were promoted?"

"Not at all, Commander," he said gravely. "I have taken many contracts since becoming a master, I simply haven't killed many of the marks personally. There was a game, you see, amongst the craftmasters. Do you wish me to explain?"

"Zevran told me something of your sect, or whatever it's called. Some poem that ended along the lines of death by a target's own hand being glorious."

He nodded, but didn't smile. "The Creed of the Craft. That was written many years after the game became popular. It was conceived by a master, before my time, who merely sought to improve lateral thinking amongst assassins. Weapons, poisons, traps…" he waved a dismissive hand. "Unnecessary if you can use a person's very surrounds against them, and there are often occasions where a kill must look accidental or natural. In any case, the game grew from this concept—killing without being the actual killer. Suicide evolved as the ultimate form of indirect assassination."

"So how long has it been since you've actually killed anyone?"

Now he smiled. "Two days, sadly. Ferelden bandits. But before that…it must have been at least a year. I was in the lead back in Antiva City—the most contracts successfully completed in a row without claiming a personal kill." He chuckled a bit. "I suppose Sandino will move up to take my place now I am no longer a Crow."

Asleena hid her frown. The whole concept was repugnant, but then some of Zevran's preferred methods hadn't been pleasant either. It was hard to judge the man before her when Zevran, who also expressed pride in his exploits, had become one of her closest friends.

"Speaking of no longer being a Crow," she said, putting assassin morality aside for now, "I've asked Pierre to prepare the Joining. You will go through the ritual today."

Xai inclined his head. "As you wish, Commander. I am ready."

"You've been in Denerim for a while now, so you've probably learned what the Joining can do to you."

"That it can kill. Yes, that secret is out and on the streets. Assassins do not greatly fear death however, and I must confess that the revelation only made me more impressed at your move to recruit me."

"Pleased to hear it," she said, not fully understanding his meaning.

But she figured it out an hour later when the Wardens gathered for his Joining. After Pierre had spoken the words and Asleena handed over the chalice, Xai paused to tilt it towards her in the manner of a man giving a toast.

"Death by their own hands," the assassin said, his eyes on hers. "To your glory, Commander."

Then he drank.

* * *

Clouds blanketed the sky above the Bannorn, promising rain.

Four Grey Wardens and a mabari warhound walked along the road that stretched between Denerim and Highever, humans and elves not speaking. They were all too tired. Asleena had pushed them hard today, wanting to reach the walls of her home before it grew dark, and there had been isolated bands of darkspawn to deal with along the way.

The presence of the monsters so close to the coast had been troubling, and Asleena hoped it was nothing more than remnants of the horde fleeing in the wrong direction. What else could it be with the archdemon slain? Even so, seeing the havoc relatively small groups of darkspawn could do to, say, isolated farmsteads, reminded her of the duties and people she had neglected by leaving Ferelden.

When Highever's soaring walls came into view and an armed party emerged from the gates to meet them, however, she knew those duties would be set aside for a while longer yet.

Becoming a Grey Warden and a hero had not stopped her from being human.

She gazed across the grassy flats of the land she'd grown up in, feeling a strong rush of emotions. It had been too long since she'd fled this place, with tears, fire and blood as her last memories of home.

She broke from Galahan, Sindel and Xai as soon as she recognised the leader of Highever's party, weariness forgotten and decorum tossed to the winds. She ran and threw her arms around him, not caring who saw or what anyone thought.

"Make it all better," she whispered.

"Little sister," Fergus murmured back, mailed arms returning her hug tightly, "I was going to ask you to do that for _me_."


	41. Ashes and Ink

_Author's Note: This chapter includes a small amount of DA:O dialogue. Stay with me, guys...it won't be doom and gloom forever, I promise. XD_

* * *

"The castle was in surprisingly good condition, considering," Fergus said, leaning against the ramparts. "I suppose Howe didn't want it too badly damaged when he intended to take it for himself."

Asleena, arms crossed on a merlon as her eyes roved across the streets and buildings below, shook her head in a sort of disbelief. "It felt so much worse when the attack happened. Sometimes the smoke was so thick…"

They had talked for most of the first night and all through the next day. There had been much to tell, share and sorrow for, and neither sibling held anything back from the other. Asleena didn't even conceal any Grey Warden questions that came up, knowing the secrets would be safe.

For Fergus' part, returning home had been difficult in more ways than the obvious ones. It had been delayed from the outset, for a full week, by politics. Not only had he needed to be formally recognised as the new Teyrn of Highever, but there had already been some subtle pressuring from the nobility for him to remarry and produce an heir. With Loghain dead and childless but for Anora and the teyrnir of Gwaren currently without a ruler, Fergus was the only teyrn in all of Ferelden. Politically, this made him second in power to the throne and heir-presumptive should Anora perish without issue.

Understandably, Fergus was not too keen on remarrying so soon after the murder of his wife and son. This had not stopped a number of arls and banns from parading their daughters in front of him at any given opportunity, and there had been plenty of these with the Landsmeet reconvening several times after Asleena's departure. Before the gathered nobility, arls, arlessas and banns were reconfirmed or newly recognised, some rulers having died in the Blight, and heirs had been declared as a pre-emptive measure against civil war. Fergus told Asleena he'd picked _her _if anything happened to him, and absolutely _no one _at the Landsmeet had argued with the decision. Being brother to the Hero of Ferelden seemed to have some perks.

Then the Orlesians had started to arrive, which had necessitated formal welcomes and hammering out just what they were and were not allowed to do while on Ferelden soil. Some privileges the chevaliers could indulge in back in Orlais had to be quite strenuously denied for while they were visiting.

When Fergus had finally escaped court to return home, there had been the signs of Howe's occupation to erase, affairs of mother and father to put in order, and the outlying lands to tend. Howe had more or less ignored Highever upon taking up residence in Denerim, but he'd left soldiers and flunkies behind to 'run things'. There had not been a lot of wanton destruction, as Fergus had noted, but many items of monetary and personal value had been looted, and many of the farmlands had been ignored completely so that their fields lay fallow. With famine threatening the land after many of the southern holdings had lost their crops and animals to blight sickness, Fergus had been fuming that any arable soil would be left untilled.

On top of all those duties, there were the fleeing darkspawn. People had to be protected. Soldiers had to be recruited and trained. Weapons had to be purchased. Staff had to be hired to cook, clean, forge and repair. Wages had to be paid. The Arling of Amaranthine, once sworn to the service of Highever's ruling family, was now held by the Grey Wardens and could not be relied upon for stable assistance, if only because it currently had no ruler.

Stress piled upon stress…no time for grief, no one he fully trusted that he could turn to.

It made wandering around the world, fighting demons, foiling assassin plots and falling into the bloated laps of broodmothers sound _simple _by comparison. And the sad thing was, with the exception of helping to fight off darkspawn, agreeing to be Fergus' heir and _maybe _finding a way to get Amarantine to support Highever, Asleena had no idea how she could really help, other than with the grieving part.

"Did he suffer?" Fergus asked, glancing over. "Howe?"

"I didn't draw his death out," Asleena said, avoiding his eyes and the look in them. "I didn't torture him."

"But you saw what he did here. You saw…_everything_. Mother and father and…and Oriana and Oren. Why didn't you take vengeance on the slimy bastard, Asleena? He deserved whatever you could give him. It would have been justice!"

"_No_." She rounded on him suddenly, saw his startled expression at her tone and tried to relax.

_Too much like the argument with Alistair…it's not enough for the guilty to die. They have to die _badly_, suffer, be remembered only for their crimes…_

She took a deep breath and tried again. "No. Fergus, I killed him, and he gave me no choice but to kill him. He's dead. That's justice enough." She looked over the rampart again, eastwards along the rough line of the coast. "He had children, you know. I knew his son Thomas and he had a daughter named Delilah. I killed their father, and their home, Amaranthine, has been taken from them for no fault of theirs." Her eyes returned to her brother. "One day, as Warden Commander, I will have to go there. I will have to see his children and apologise."

"You did nothing wrong," Fergus said, looking unhappy to hear her say these things.

"I know. But neither did they. We are not the only ones who suffer for what Howe did, Fergus. I can give them one thing, and only one thing…I can tell them honestly that their father didn't suffer when he died." She smiled a little. "Coming from a Cousland, perhaps that will mean something."

"I see what you're saying…but I don't think I could have done it. Had Howe faced _me_…" Fergus shrugged. "I must sound like a bloodthirsty barbarian."

"You sound like a man who lost people he loved to someone we thought we could trust. At least I got some closure, seeing him die."

Her brother sighed. "Speaking of closure, there's something we still have to do. I wasn't sure when to bring it up, but now seems as good a time as ever. Come with me."

They walked back inside. Asleena found herself glancing at the familiar hallways for differences, and it showed mostly in the fixtures. Many of the paintings and tapestries that had once adorned the walls were missing, and nothing new replaced them yet. The floor carpets were not the same as before, the old ones having been torn, scorched or bloodstained.

She'd come to terms with the pillaging of her own bedroom. Furniture had mostly remained where it had been left, but smaller items, even clothes, childhood tokens and a large ball of socks Ferrix had loved to chew were all gone, burned, sold or stolen. Almost all she owned were the armour, weapons and various oddments she'd packed into some crates and asked Fergus to return to Highever before she'd left Denerim. She had spoken to him about going through it all at some point, seeing if he wanted to keep anything for the armoury or himself, then selling the rest to help restore the keep's treasury.

The only heirlooms that remained were their father's sword and shield, which Asleena had salvaged from the armoury on the night of the invasion. Fergus carried them now.

Her brother had moved into the bedroom their parents had once shared. It hadn't been motivated by his rise in rank and a sudden urge to claim bigger quarters, but an unwillingness to return to the room and the bed he had once shared with his wife. Asleena could only imagine how painful it was for him walking past that door every day, or sometimes forgetting himself and putting a hand out to open it…then remembering…

But it was to this door that he led her now. He had given its use to Galahan and Sindel while they were in residence, but the elves were outside today exploring the woods at the rear of the keep. Fergus took Asleena inside and nodded up towards a shelf where four blue-glazed ceramic urns bearing the Cousland crest stood. One of the vessels was much smaller than its three companions.

"They say scattering the ashes helps…to move on," Fergus said. "I didn't want to do it until you came home." He gave her a small smile, and she saw the bright glisten of welling tears. "I wasn't sure I _could _do it without you."

"Does it have to be public?" she asked, feeling her own eyes sting and throat tighten.

He shook his head. "We can do it alone. I'd rather it that way, actually."

She agreed with a mute nod. The siblings took down the remains of their family in silence and bore them from Highever's walls, father and mother, wife and son, sister and nephew…

…and on the cliffs above the Waking Sea, the wind took their ashes into the sunlit sky.

* * *

Brother and sister parted company when they returned to the castle in the evening, each wishing to be alone with their own thoughts for a time. Asleena went to her chambers and removed her armour, hanging the greatsword Yusaris on the weapons rack by her bed. It had been her favourite blade until Starfang, which had been forged and balanced for her hands.

She made a start sorting through the crates, setting aside a few items she thought the new Warden Recruits might appreciate.

Then she dug up the book. She'd been using it as a diary throughout the Blight to keep track of things she'd learned and help her remember things she had to do. There had been so much. On one page there was the phrase she'd been told would activate Shale (which hadn't). On another there was a rough map of a dead thaig., or an herbal recipe she'd later passed on to Wynne and Morrigan, or an inscription she'd read on a tombstone…

In the middle, pressed between the pages, was the rose Alistair had given to her. It had died and dried long ago, naturally, but the dark red petals still bore echoes of the scent it had possessed when fresh. Asleena sat with the tome and flower in her lap for a while, one finger tracing the line of the stem, the thorns, the wilted bloom.

"_Feel my thorns, darkspawn! I will overpower you with my rosy scent!"_

She turned her head to the metal brazier in one corner of her room. Lacking a fireplace, this was what provided the chamber with warmth.

"_They say scattering the ashes helps…to move on."_

She crossed the floor, dead rose in hand, and held it over the burning coals. Heat radiated against her skin and the firelight cast a warm golden glow across the petals.

"_I remember thinking, 'How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?' In a lot of ways…I think the same thing when I look at you."_

Jaw and fist clenched. The back of her hand started to redden.

"Drop it," she whispered. "Just let it go."

But while the fine hairs on her skin singed and the petals closest to the flames began to wrinkle and curl, she couldn't make her fingers open. She pulled her arm away only when the heat became too much to endure, and shakingly placed the rose atop Duncan's shield, which she'd left on the bedside table.

"_You won't land me that easily, woman! I know I'm quire the prize, after all…no need to start crying on me or anything."_

She stared at it a moment longer before crawling into bed and burying herself beneath the covers.

After farewelling her family, she hadn't thought there were any tears left in her to shed.

* * *

Fergus' voice was muffled by the heavy wooden door.

"Asleena, you skipped dinner yesterday and have been in there all day today. You have to eat something!"

"I'm not hungry. Go away."

"Don't be a pest. Do you know how undignified it looks, being a teyrn and talking through doors?"

"Then stop talking!"

"Sorry, but I'm going to nag until you let me in. Or until the chamberlain comes back with the master key."

"You can't break into my room!"

"I'd rather you _let _me in, little sister. I haven't come empty handed."

Asleena scowled at the door. Ferrix, who was sitting off to one side on his favourite blanket, yapped.

"At least let Ferrix out," Fergus suggested. "He's probably bored out of his mind in there."

The mabari whined pathetically and lowered his head to the floor, brown eyes staring at Asleena with such an overdone expression of pleading that she threw her hands up.

"Oh, all _right. _Manipulative sodding dog…"

He ran from the room as soon as the door was opened, almost knocking Fergus' legs out from under him.

"And stay out of the kitchens this time!" Asleena bellowed as the dog's hindquarters vanished down the stairwell. It was their third day home, not including the afternoon they'd arrived, and he'd already found his way into the larder. Twice.

Fergus rubbed his ear and grinned at her, but before she could speak he held up a handful of folded parchments. There was a rectangular box under his other arm. "Your Orlesian friend Leliana asked me to deliver some letters to you when you returned to Highever," he said. "I forgot about them until this parcel arrived today, or I would have given them to you earlier."

"Letters?" Asleena said blankly, taking them.

"You know, pieces of paper with writing on them that friends send to friends?" He chuckled when she glowered, followed her into the room and sprawled in a chair while she sat on the edge of her bed. "Can the lowly elder brother ask why his sister's in such a bad mood today?"

"Didn't sleep well," she muttered, glancing unwillingly to where she'd left the dead rose. "And I didn't want to get up."

Fergus had followed the flicker of her eyes, and now he was looking at her with a depth of understanding that shamed her greatly. He settled the box into his lap, then nodded to the letters. "I haven't read them, but maybe they'll cheer you up." He pointed. "The one with the ribbon tied around it is from Leliana." He grinned suddenly. "She said I had to tell you to read hers first."

Asleena couldn't repress a smile, and she pulled the dark green ribbon loose to extract her friend's letter.

She had to lower the parchment after the first couple of sentences.

"I think I'll need you to read this to me out loud," she said huskily, passing her brother the missive and wiping her eyes.

He nodded and did as she asked.

_My dearest friend,_

_I hope that all is well with you when the time comes that this letter is delivered to your hands. I know that the last days of the Blight have been hard on you; you tried to hide it, but I could tell how unhappy you were. I was always worried that if I tried to get you to talk it would break even your great strength, and you had been trying to stay so strong for so many people. With the end of the war near I was afraid to say something wrong, and I believed you would talk to me when you were ready to do so. Being separated from one you love is no easy thing, as I know._

_When I saw you depart the celebrations at the palace with Zevran I had no idea what to think! I did not wish to pursue you in case I intruded, but when I learned you were trying to find a ship I guessed where you might be going and why. If I am right, it seems we are both set on hunting down the ones we love. I will pray to the Maker every day that you find Alistair and are reunited happily. Zevran had better behave himself or he will have me to answer to!_

_I will write again when I can. I expect I will find myself back in Orlais, so I will be sure to buy you a gift. I will get you something nice._

_All our love,_

_Leliana and Schmooples_

_PS. I should tell you, I suggested to the others that they each write a letter for you as well before leaving Denerim. They said they would, except for Sten. He doesn't seem to understand the point! I will wear him down, though, I promise._

Fergus lowered the letter. "You knew someone called Schmooples?"

Asleena couldn't hold back a laugh as she wiped her eyes on the blanket she'd pulled around her shoulders. "No, that's the name Leliana gave her pet nug! She saw them in Orzammar and thought they were cute, so I found a dwarf who agreed to catch one for me and gave it to her."

"I thought dwarves _ate _nugs."

"They do. Oghren wasn't too happy with the idea of a snack walking around camp, but Leliana threatened to shave him if he tried anything."

"And…she called it Schmooples?"

"Don't look at me." Asleena grinned. "It was her pet."

"Well, this arrived today, as I said." Fergus gave her the box, and unfolded the letter that had come with it. "There's a letter with it. The courier said it's also from Leliana."

The parcel, when Asleena unwrapped it, turned out to contain a pair of fantastically crafted shoes. They were black, the outer material something that felt like velvet under her fingertips. Across the tops of the shoes were sprinkled a pattern of dark green facetted jewels and flakes of some transparent crystal, maybe even diamond. Black velvet ribbons, intended to be laced around the ankles and calves, were tied in a bow above each.

"Oh, Leliana…" Asleena murmured in appreciation, turning the gift over in her hands and watching how the light sparkled off the gems.

Fergus read:

_Dearest Asleena,_

_I only just arrived in Jader and I couldn't resist! Schmooples favoured a red pair, but I thought these would be more you. Be sure to get a nice dress to go with them! Or maybe I will find you one. We shall see._

_I miss travelling with you and the others already. It wasn't easy reaching Orlais—there are so many darkspawn still about. Luckily I was able to travel with some of the dwarves who were returning to Orzammar, so it was a lot more secure. I don't think it will be safe to walk around Ferelden alone for some time. Hopefully when the Grey Wardens from Orlais arrive they will be able to calm things down. When I visit Highever or Amaranthine to see you again, I want it to be in quiet times so we can enjoy ourselves for once._

_I hope you have found Alistair by now. No news yet of Marjolaine, but I will keep you informed. I only wish I wasn't moving around so much so I could give you a place to write back to me. If you want, you can try directing a letter to the Chantry in Val Chevin. I expect I will be heading that way eventually. You can tell me if the shoes fit!_

_Please give Ferrix a big hug for me! I think I forgot to mention him in my first letter. Maybe I should have sent him something as well? Mabari like shoes as much as other dogs, don't they?_

_All our love,_

_Leliana and Schmooples_

"I can't wait to see you in a dress, little sister," Fergus teased. "Some of those Orlesian gowns are very fancy. Wouldn't be able to swing a sword in one of those!"

Asleena, who was trying one of the shoes on, swatted his knee. "I should ask her to send something for _you _to wear as well, big brother."

"Not a dress, if you please. I don't have the waistline for it. Who's Marjolaine?"

"A woman Leliana loved very much." Asleena explained the relationship and Fergus shook his head at the end.

"After all that woman did to her, betraying her and hiring men to kill her, she's going _after _her? Why?"

"Because she loved her." Asleena was silent for a few seconds before picking up the next letter from her pile, which had been sent by Wynne and Shale, then gave it to him. "I'm worried about how it might turn out, of course. I know Leliana can take care of herself, but I wouldn't put it past Marjolaine to try and hurt her. I hope she's careful."

Fergus nodded and proceeded to read aloud.

_Dear Asleena,_

_I hope your journeys were safe ones and that you return home hale and healthy. Leliana thinks you are going after Alistair. Had we known, Shale and I would have come with you—even if only a part of the way, if you'd have allowed it. On the other hand, I don't know if the captain you hired would have liked a golem and an unescorted mage being on board. _

_I am sorry we did not get a chance to properly farewell each other in Denerim. I expected you to remain longer than you did, but I can't blame you for wanting to leave as soon as possible. Whatever, or whoever you are looking for in your travels, I hope you find it._

_You know I am proud of you, but I wanted to write it down so you would always remember. I never trusted Loghain after what happened at Ostagar—I, much like yourself and poor Alistair, was fortunate to have escaped with my life, and like Alistair I lost many good friends in that battle. But I have always admired your mercy and compassion, and I know you made your decision for good reasons even though the decision was hard. When you return to the Grey Wardens, as I have no doubt you will, I can only hope that these virtues remain with you always and are passed on to the Ferelden recruits._

_Shale is unable to handle a pen easily, so she asks me to write that she hopes to visit Highever or Amaranthine when she is restored to flesh. She seems most eager to see you again on 'mortal terms'. I think she wants you to teach her how to fight like you do, but she has expressed an interest in learning how to handle a bow as well (possibly to shoot down birds. I decided not to ask)._

_As for myself, should fate decree we never meet again, be safe, my friend. And be happy._

_From Wynne and Shale_

"I hope they manage to find a way to restore her," Asleena said wistfully. "I really want to see what Shale looks like as a dwarf. And I bet Leliana would _love _talking to her about clothes and shoes. And how to wear her hair."

"Wynne was the mage, wasn't she? She doesn't sound like she expects to see you again."

"Did I forget to tell you about that? It's a little complicated, but I'll explain later. I hope I do see her again, though. She was a good friend, very wise and kind."

The next letter was much shorter, and from Sten.

_Hail Kadan,_

_I see no reason to write. We said all that was needed to be said on our parting, but the Chantry sister would not desist in her pestering until I agreed to this endeavour._

_It is her belief you are pursuing your fellow Grey Warden. I expect you will succeed at locating him, just as you succeeded in finding Asala. Remind him of his duty to your order and his companions, if duty is as important as he once claimed._

_Victory in your travels._

_Sten_

Fergus turned the letter over to check the back for more and shrugged.

"Well, he was right about me _finding _Alistair," Asleena murmured. "I didn't try the duty line. I don't think it would have worked."

"Who's Asala?"

"Asala is the name of Sten's sword."

"Sten's the qunari? Happy to get Asala back, was he?"

"He _almost smiled_."

Fergus laughed and flourished the final parchment. "Last letter. From…Oghren."

_Hey Warden,_

_Leliana says you're going after Alistair. And you took that fancy-pants elf Zevran with you! Why not me? I wouldn't have minded seeing that reunion. All three of you together again, if you catch my drift. Don't worry, you'll find him. If you could track down Branka in the sodding Deep Roads then Alistair will be no problem. And if he won't listen to you, just take a little advice from old Oghren and push him up against a good stone wall and—_

"Err…" Fergus' widening eyes trailed down the paragraph and Asleena actually giggled, all too easily imagining the kind of ribald suggestions the dwarf might have written down. "Maybe I won't read the rest out loud. I'll see if I can skim to a safer paragraph." He coughed. "Actually, ah…I'll go right to the end."

_I won the bet, by the way. Teagan piked out early. Knew he didn't have it in him. Invite me to Highever some time and we'll see if that pretty-boy brother of yours has a tougher stomach. _

_Oghren_

"All right. _What_?" Fergus asked.

"Um. Do you like pickles?"

"Don't make me tickle the answer out of you."

Asleena grinned. "Bann Teagan Guerrin bet he could get through a barrel of pickle juice faster than Oghren."

"That's…a little gross."

"That's what I told him!" She hesitated. "Nothing from Morrigan, I guess."

"This is all of them," Fergus said. Folding the letters together into a small pile, he held them out to her.

Asleena handled them carefully. Nothing from Morrigan. She couldn't say it surprised her. She'd probably never hear from Alistair again either. As for Zevran, it was still too soon to say. She had to wait a bit before she could manage to look at her brother again. "Thank you, Fergus."

"Little sister…you still look so unhappy."

"You must think me selfish," she said quietly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "All this fuss over a man I only knew for a little while, when you lost so much more."

Fergus moved from the chair to sit beside her on the bed and put an arm around her. Asleena leaned her head on his shoulder and he kissed her crown, like father had sometimes done. "I don't think you're selfish," he said. "A bit of a pain at times—_ow!_" He rubbed his ribs with a grimace. "See, that's more how I remember you. Terror."

"Monster."

"Brat."

"I learned some good names from Oghren, you know. And you read his letter."

"Andraste's mercy, spare me!" He laughed. "Listen, I'll get some hot water sent up here so you can clean up—you really are a mess, you know? Then get dressed and come downstairs to eat with me. Some Orlesian chevaliers and Wardens arrived to help with the darkspawn, and there have been a number of requests that the mighty Hero of Ferelden grace them with her glorious presence."

Asleena groaned. "When you said 'get dressed', does that mean I can get away with wearing my armour?"

For answer, Fergus picked up the shoes Leliana had sent and plonked them into her lap. He grinned at her. "I'll see if there's a suitable dress around in your size. If nothing turns up by the time you've washed, you're off the hook."

"You're on. And you don't have a chance."

When he reached the threshold to leave, Asleena stopped him.

"Fergus? I know you're not looking to remarry any time soon, but…do you think you'll ever fall in love again?"

"I don't know," he said, looking sombre. "It's just too soon, Asleena. There are still too many…memories." He cleared his throat suddenly and opened the door, smiling again. "See you at dinner?"

She made an effort and grinned back, arching a brow. "In steel. Not silk."

"And I'll find someone to do your hair for you."

"You are the most horrible brother in the world."

"Love you too."

* * *

_Author's Note: Sorry if people found this chapter a little long. With all the recent angsting I wanted to end this one on a slightly happier note. :) Hope the letters felt 'in character'._


	42. Elves and Men

It was probably the closest thing Castle Cousland had had to a social function in some time.

Fergus extracted himself from the press after he was sure his sister could hold her own, relieved that after the past weeks of politics he was, for once, not the centre of anyone's attention, or indeed required to do anything. It was a pleasant change of pace from economics and marriage suggestions.

Strolling to the table of drinks that had been set up along one wall of the Great Hall, he nodded to one of the servants to refill his glass and then made his way to a corner some distance from the fuss of Wardens and chevaliers mingling near the large fireplace. He leaned against a section of wall, quite close to a large potted fern, and sipped his wine.

"How in the world did you manage to convince her to wear that dress, my friend?" the plant asked after a short silence, its accent distinctly Antivan.

"I bet her I couldn't find one before she could finish bathing," Fergus said.

"Ah. So you did not, in fact, tell her you already _had _a dress for her?"

The young teyrn smirked behind his wineglass. "She likes it, by the way. She called me a bastard."

"Mm. Ferelden fashion does leave something to be desired, however. These dresses your land inflicts upon women cover entirely too much skin. Not that this seems to be stopping any number of admiring glances being cast in her direction, I notice."

"She always did look good in green."

Zevran had to concur. Despite the fern, he had a good clear view towards the cluster of guests and Asleena. In forest green silk trimmed with black embroidery, her hair plaited to her shoulder-blades, the Lady Cousland was definitely the one to watch. The other Wardens, in armour and armed, were generally treating her with the mutual respect of fellow warriors, but the chevaliers were all highborn, dressed to impress as any self-respecting Orlesian gentleman _did _when hobnobbing with other nobles, and Asleena was eligible, beautiful, a national hero, and, perhaps most importantly to a chevalier's mindset, she was interested in swords and horses and could handle both.

"How long is this likely to continue? I do not wish her to be…worn out before the main event," Zevran finished delicately.

"Probably not for another hour. She had a rough night." Fergus frowned, a touch of unease entering his voice as he asked, "Are you sure about this? I know she trusts you, but after this morning I can't help but worry. If something goes wrong—"

"I am sure."

"If something goes wrong," Fergus repeated, "I _will _get angry."

"And I would expect nothing less."

Fergus sighed but nodded. "My wardrobe isn't extensive right now," he said, "but if you can find any clothes that will fit you may borrow them for tonight. The key is in a bowl by my bed." He drained his glass and strode away.

Zevran lingered a while longer, allowing his eyes to soak up the vision on the opposite side of the room before he snuck out in the wake of a pair of elven servants. As much as he longed to make his presence known to Asleena, it was not the right moment for what was planned. And his position was not yet decided.

He followed a few of Highever's paved streets to where Galahan was waiting for him in the lee of a building. Like Sindel, the hunter had made an appearance to the visiting Wardens but excused himself early from the party. Being indoors still made the Dalish uncomfortable, so Asleena suspected nothing from their departure.

"Well?" Galahan asked quietly.

"She looked ravishing, just as I knew she would. You should think about getting your lovely wife some fetching number, my friend. I suggest midnight blue, perhaps a concoction of velvet that leaves the shoulders bare and is cut to the thigh."

"Are you undressing Sindel in your mind, Zevran?"

"_Dressing_ her in my mind! Quite different, no? The very opposite, in fact."

Galahan smiled slightly, shaking his head. "Speaking of clothes…"

"We have the teyrn's permission." Zevran fell into step with the hunter, whose room was close to both Asleena's and Fergus'. This combined with Galahan's status as a Grey Warden meant none of the guards challenged their presence into the residential area of the keep.

_Tonight_, he told himself.

_Tonight it will be decided._

* * *

The contents of the small leather pouch clinked as Alistair rolled it distractedly between his hands. It was night outside, and candles lit the table he sat at. He was alone this time, without even a bottle to keep him company. Only his thoughts…

Being by himself and completely _sober _had given him a great deal of time for reflecting on things…

* * *

_Alistair spun, his bare fist flying around and catching Zevran smack against the side of his face. There was enough force behind it to knock the assassin off his feet, and he got the rare pleasure of seeing Zevran fall flat to the ground with a complete lack of dignity. Casual violence was not something Alistair tended to indulge in; it wasn't _right_ and he was strong enough to hurt most people quite easily without even trying._

_Punching _Zevran_, though…after enduring that smug smile, that suave voice and the destruction of his mother's amulet…_

_Alistair took the sword from his erstwhile companion's scabbard and kicked him onto his back. His foot pressed down against the Antivan's chest. The sword swung to point at his throat._

_Zevran's faced screwed up in a brief grimace of pain. An angry red mark was already blooming against the bronze skin of one cheekbone. The elf looked up at Alistair, golden-brown eyes cold. "That," he said quietly, not a smile to be seen, "_that_, my good friend Alistair, is a very good portrayal of what I think of you."_

"_You deserved it, you _bastard_," he grated. "Do you have any idea what that meant to me? Any idea at _all_?"_

"_Of course it was deserved." Zevran's voice was carefully neutral. "And yes, I am aware it was very dear to you. Maybe it can be repaired again. And maybe not…I do not know how extensive the damage is, yet. I do wonder, however, if _you_ intend to pick up the pieces this time."_

_Alistair's knuckles whitened as he glanced towards the shattered fragments of the amulet. They glittered against the dark wood of the floor, reminding him of the day he himself had thrown and broken it, bitterly angry at the injustice he'd felt done to him, unwilling to listen to the arl's reasons or even let him visit at the Chantry, choosing to believe he was not getting the life he wanted because Eamon cared more for other things than _him_… _

"_You would be the best man to mend it," Zevran continued in the same even tone. "You, I think, are most familiar with its structure and pattern. It would be…distressing if such a beautiful thing were not restored to its full splendour."_

_Alistair's eyes flicked back to the assassin's, which were observing him so intently it felt like they were trying to follow his very train of thought. Alistair was honest enough with himself to admit he didn't always catch on to things quickly, but he _did_ know Zevran wasn't talking about jewellery._

_He remembered the anguish in Asleena's face when he'd spoken his hasty, ill-thought words…practically the mirror of how she had looked when he'd left her side at the Landsmeet._

_Maker…how he regretted that day. Not for hating Loghain or wanting the bastard dead, but for how he'd kept trying to pressure Asleena into allowing the execution. If he'd just stopped after his initial outburst and tried to draw her aside to discuss it privately, it might have been all right or even turned out differently, but he'd tried to _force_ the issue by claiming the throne he'd talked her out of putting him on in the first place. He'd given her that unforgivable ultimatum of emotional blackmail: 'Do this or lose me.' He'd made her choose publicly, and when she'd decided against him, unable to avoid an issue raised before the entire nobility of Ferelden, he'd been too ashamed and angry at the humiliation of it to remain._

"You backed yourself into a bad place, lethallin," _Galahan had sighed during one of their lengthy conversations in the Wildervale. _"That this Loghain deserved death for his crimes I will not argue, but you chose a painful path to try and achieve it, gambling with the integrity and heart of your love."

_If only he'd shut up before trying to become king…if her face when he'd told her they couldn't have been a royal couple was any indication, _really_ telling her he had to set her aside would have torn him apart. And for what?_

"_I should have tried to compromise," he muttered aloud, slowly moving the blade away from Zevran's neck._

"_Compromise?" the assassin replied cautiously, eyes following the sword but otherwise unmoving._

"_I could have lived with him not dying," Alistair said. He took two steps back and sat down heavily on the floor, propping the sword against his shoulder. "At least, I think I could have. But making him a Grey Warden when he'd as good as killed my family? Let him live, fine…but don't make him one of us."_

"_Are you _still_ on about Loghain, man?" Zevran sat upright, fixing him with an exasperated glare. "The way I see it he did you a favour by becoming a Warden. He made the sacrifice, no? Happy ending for everyone else."_

_Alistair had begun to bristle until the assassin reached that word. "Sacrifice? What favour? What are you talking about?"_

"_He killed the archdemon. Did she not say this?"_

_Alistair shrugged. "Yes? So?"_

_Zevran's impatient look became one of slowly dawning suspicion. "Grey Warden kills archdemon, Grey Warden dies?"_

"What?"

"_Mother of Mercy…" The assassin groaned and lay down again, putting a hand over his eyes. "What kind of order doesn't tell their recruits what the point of their mission is? Are you quite seriously telling me you did not know?"_

"_The Grey Warden who kills the archdemon _dies_? This is what you're telling me?"_

_Zevran sighed, lifted his head to regard the ex-Templar then rolled to his feet. "If I am to explain what you missed, and I cannot _wait_ to see your face when I get to the Morrigan part, at least allow me to finish my drink. It is quite a nice vintage."_

_Alistair did not object. He was too busy considering futures in which he or Asleena might have died._

_Heroically._

_With a statue raised in his or her honour afterwards, and roses on the bier._

_He shivered._

_Zevran paused before sipping to probe his injured cheek with a couple of fingers, and there was a popping noise when he flexed his jaw. He didn't do it ostentatiously, as though expecting some sort of apology, and Alistair didn't offer one. _

_He _had_ deserved it._

_He had…_

"_I have a question for you, my friend, before we begin," the elf said suddenly, his face serious, and nodded towards the broken remains of the amulet. "What are your intentions where that is concerned?"_

_Alistair was not, as he would have put it, completely stupid. He was familiar with Zevran's antics and attitude in regards to those he took a fancy to, but his behaviour here, defending Asleena so passionately, was something he would never have expected of the elf. In his experience, that was more than just loyalty._

"_I could ask the same thing of you," he said. _

"_You care for her," Alistair went on when Zevran didn't reply, only sitting back down in his chair and taking a mouthful of wine. "Let's say I _do_ go after her and apologise for being an idiot just now. What will you do?"_

"_Do you remember on that fateful day I tried to kill the two of you, I told her I would be her man without reservation?" the assassin asked, putting his feet up on the table again._

"_I also remember you calling her a deadly sex goddess. It's not easy to take you seriously when you're…" Alistair, still sitting on the floor, made a vague gesture in Zevran's direction. "_You_."_

"_Pretty and charming?" Zevran grinned, but held up his free hand when Alistair frowned. "I know, I know. Speaking seriously then, if you go after her…and I strongly suggest you refrain from doing so until you've slept off the drink you've been indulging in…I will go with you to ensure this apology of yours reaches her in one piece."_

"_All right, and assuming I'd even agree to have you along…what then?"_

"_That would depend entirely upon her, my friend. Where she and I are concerned, it always has."_

_

* * *

_

Alistair looked up when the door opened, admitting Galahan and Zevran. The hunter carried an armful of folded clothes to the table and set them down.

"Try these on, lethallin. You should at least be wearing something clean."

"How did she look?" Alistair asked Zevran as he began unbuckling pieces of splint mail and putting them down on Galahan and Sindel's bed.

"A hundred painters could have tried to capture her likeness and succeed only at producing a mere shadow of her beauty," the Antivan replied extravagantly. "She is truly a marvel in that dress. I warn you, the very sight of her wrapped in the silks you chose may wipe all thought clean from your head."

"Not helping." Alistair gulped a deep breath of air. "Urgh. I think I'm going to be sick…"

"That is perfectly reasonable, my friend," Zevran said, grinning. "Just don't vomit all over the shoes Leliana gave her. She would likely kill you for such a transgression."

"Which 'she'?"

Galahan interrupted. "You will be fine, Alistair. Just say to her what you came to say. You owe her that much."

Alistair nodded and pulled on the clean tunic. The leather pouch went beneath it, hanging from his neck by the chain the whole amulet had once decorated.

He and Zevran exchanged a long look, then they shook hands.

"Good luck," Alistair said, a little awkwardly.

Zevran inclined his head. "And to you, ser."


	43. Silk and Leather

_Author's Note: I apologise for the long wait. To be honest I was procrastinating fairly heavily due to all the expectation (lovely though it is!).  
_

_The chapter after this one is expected to be the end of _The Hunt_. Hope you will enjoy, no matter what your hopes for the finale have been..._

_Once again, many thanks for joining me in this tale. :)  
_

* * *

"You don't mind if I leave early?" Asleena asked, embracing her brother.

"I don't, but I can't speak for our guests," Fergus replied. When she pulled away he was grinning, but also looking oddly worried at the same time. She quirked a brow at him.

"I'm sure they'll behave. Or would you rather I stay up a bit longer?"

He chuckled. "No, don't mind me. Just…have a better night tonight, you hear?"

She smiled as he hugged her again. "I will. Thanks."

She left the main hall, returning a few farewell words and suffering her hand to be kissed at least three times before emerging into the cooler air of the night. A pair of guards by the torch-lit door nodded to her and she bade them good evening, but not by name. It would be a while before she was familiar enough with all the new faces for that.

"Commander?"

Xai had just come out of the hall behind her. Like the Orlesian Wardens he had attended the gathering under arms, but he wore a dark blue robe over his customary grey leathers.

"Do you mind if I accompany you as far as my quarters?" he asked. The former assassin had a guest suite downstairs from the family residence, not far past the atrium.

"If you wish," Asleena said. "I'm surprised you're leaving so soon, though."

"The subject of conversation looks set to circulate around your person for the next hour or so," Xai said dryly as they began walking. "Whom amongst the chevaliers the Lady Cousland favoured most, and so forth. I could always settle their dispute by giving them an answer straight from your lips, Commander."

"I didn't 'favour' any of them," she replied with a slight smirk.

"I suppose they will entertain themselves by debating otherwise for a good portion of the evening, then."

"You could have stayed and spoken with the Wardens instead."

"I did not feel so inclined. I am sure I will find something else to occupy my interest for the rest of the evening."

She arched an inquisitive brow and he smiled.

"There is _always _something going on at night in a place as large as this, Commander. There are many new faces about."

They parted company at the door of Xai's room and Asleena went upstairs alone, removing her shoes when she reached the carpeted hallway and sinking her feet into the thick material with a sigh. Ferelden boots may not be the most attractive of footwear, but they were definitely comfortable.

There was a sudden clamour of canine barking mixed with the sound of Sindel's voice when she reached the wide passage that branched into various family bedchambers. Sindel was attempting to herd Ferrix into Asleena's room, but the mabari was in a state of excitement and proving uncooperative. He kept trying to get past her to Fergus' old room, but the door was shut.

"Asleena!" Sindel said in relief, spying her. "Can you please control him? He won't listen to me."

Asleena called Ferrix over and told him to quiet, which he obeyed, but his huge body continued to tremble and his tongue hung out as he panted loudly. "He must be bored," she said. "I should have left him in my room tonight, but he'd been in there all day. Sorry."

"It's no trouble." The elven woman smiled. "Did you have a nice time with the Orlesians?"

"I think so." Asleena shrugged a nod, patting Ferrix on the head. "It was good to have my mind taken off things. Maybe tomorrow I'll manage to get up at a decent hour and do something more productive than mope—like teach you how to handle a sword."

"It would be too much bother, Asleena," Sindel said. "I know I mentioned it in passing, but I'm a mage. A staff is too valuable as a focus to substitute for any other weapons, even if I did become proficient in…where are you going?"

Asleena opened the door to her room, snapped her fingers to send Ferrix to his blankets, put her shoes down then returned to the hall with a bow in one hand and a sword in the other, the latter of which vibrated unceasingly in her grip.

"This is Spellweaver," she said, passing the sheathed blade over. "It's a piece of elven history I picked up during the Blight, forged by your people. I also learned some techniques you might be interested in, an art your mages used long ago to channel their magic into martial skill. I only know the theory of how it works, but if you're willing—"

"Yes." Sindel nodded fervently, both hands gripping the sword. "I…Asleena, this is a fine gift. My people travel for all our years seeking the lost lore of our race, and you have found…you would give…" She looked almost overcome. "And I could teach what you pass on to others? I could return the knowledge to my people?"

"So long as I prove to be a good teacher, and you an apt student," Asleena said with a smile. "I don't see why not." She gestured with the longbow she still held. "I wanted to give this to Galahan. Is he in?"

"No!" Sindel said suddenly, eyes wide, but then, "I mean, yes! I mean…he's…waiting for me," she finished lamely and going bright red. "I was going to get something from the kitchens for us to share, but then Ferrix started up and…"

"It's all right," Asleena replied, unsuccessfully fighting a grin. "You can pass this on to him for me. It's called Falon'Din's Reach. I figured since Falon'Din was Dirthamen's brother, it would be appropriate to give this to him."

"I think he will appreciate it very much," Sindel said gravely. "Ma serannas, from both of us." She cleared her throat and glanced back at her door. "He's…probably wondering what's taking so long."

"Don't keep him waiting then. Good night."

Asleena closed her own door, feeling a satisfied little glow at what she'd achieved. Maybe things _would_ get better if she tried a bit harder. Now if she could only figure out what to give Xai…she'd asked him about his life before the Crows on the way from Denerim to Highever and he'd spoken of working with his family in a troupe of entertainers, before they'd been sold on the slavers' block to pay for debts. They were supposed to have been kept together and resold as a group to preserve the value of their main act, but the Crows had singled Xai out and _no one_ denied Antiva's most powerful guild of assassins.

"_I could dance," _Xai had said, "_and I could act. My father always said I had 'stage presence'."_

"_You have nothing to remember your family by?"_

"_Neither the slavers nor the Crows allowed memorabilia. We had little of value anyway, Commander. As I recall, the thing I prized most as a child was nothing more than a stage prop, a pair of large metal fans I used in my favourite dance routine. Hardly valuable."_

"_The sentiment is valuable."_

To which he had chuckled. _"I am no longer that child, Commander. I dance with swords now, not toys."_

Maybe, maybe not. Morrigan had still loved that mirror. Zevran had still taken to those gloves. Alistair—

She paused, frowning to herself as her blood tingled.

She wasn't used to being in close proximity to large numbers of Grey Wardens, and had discovered it was more difficult to discern individuals than she'd previously believed. Since Zaria's group at Starkhaven, Pierre's at Denerim and tonight's festivities, she'd become more certain that one didn't detect specific people so much as how strongly the taint flowed in them. A brand new recruit, for instance, could easily be separated from a Senior Warden, and perhaps you could deduce who they were through an educated guess, but you didn't know who they were unless you saw them.

Asleena could sense a single Warden presence nearby: Galahan was the logical choice. Sindel was a fading tingle as she headed deeper into Highever, and there was a strong _blur _further out, where the Orlesians were. Drawing nearer to her own position were two more Wardens…one very young, the other…

…disturbingly familiar.

It couldn't be Alistair, even if it felt like him. A couple of Orlesians had gotten lost, or maybe someone else was with them and showing them around…or something…

She didn't jump when the knock came at her door. But she didn't go to open it straight away either, and she didn't call out to ask who it was. Ferrix got up, though. He trotted to the door and stuck his nose in the gap near the floor, where he snuffled for the visitor's scent. His tail was wagging madly.

"Just answer it," she muttered, and nudged the mabari aside with a bare foot so she could pull the door open.

Alistair was on the other side. Alone. In clothes that looked of fine weave, if a little tight across his broad shoulders. Ferrix sniffed happily at his boots, then galloped off down the corridor. Neither Warden looked to see where he went.

"Wow," Alistair managed, staring at her. "He wasn't joking."

"Who?" Asleena replied, completely at a loss. "What?"

"You look…I just…I don't know how I walked away from this." He gazed at her for a long moment, drinking in the sight of her, then abruptly looked down at the floor.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, quietly demanding, when the silence drew out. "You said you wanted nothing more to do with Ferelden or any of us who lived here. You made it…very clear…what you think of us. And of me."

Alistair met her eyes again, and there was shame in his face. "What I said to you at Starkhaven about the demon…that wasn't fair. I should have let you explain. I _know _you would never do…" He sighed. "…what I basically accused you of doing. I'm sorry, and I hope you can forgive me."

"How do you know I didn't do what you said?" Asleena replied, her conscience stinging. "How do you know I didn't…kill any of the villagers? Or slay the host when there might have been other options?"

"Zevran told me everything."

She stared at him. "Zevran? Is he here too?"

Alistair nodded, averting his gaze once more. There was a subtle shift in his position, as though he was withdrawing slightly. "He's in Highever. He was the one who convinced me to come after you. Funny story, really," the former Templar went on, adopting the almost-joking tone she remembered so dearly. "He tricked me into metaphorically punching myself in the face."

"He…he _what_?"

Alistair grinned a bit, stealing a glance at her face, then went serious again. "Look…I know he's been a good friend to you. He's been at your side when I wasn't, so I'll understand if…well, I'll understand. I just came back to talk, not to sweep you into my arms and take you back or anything."

"I see," she said, a shade coldly to cover the sudden stab of hurt. "You came back to _talk, _then give your blessing so I can move on to another man."

"No no no, that's not it!" Alistair blurted hastily. "Argh, this felt so much easier when I was working it out in my head. You _know _how I am!"

She glared a second longer before her expression softened. "Yes…I know how you are."

"I just meant I know I have no right to come back here _expecting_ anything of you," he said, his earnest expression willing her to understand. "I should have stayed with you to the end, but I left, and then I drove you away when you came after me. Tell me to leave, fine, tell me you don't love me anymore and I'll go. I won't make a scene."

"About the Landsmeet," she said slowly, watching his face as it turned apprehensive. "If we're giving each other apologies, then I'm sorry for how that turned out. I hated…I _really _hated going against you like I did, in front of everyone, and can only imagine how betrayed you felt. I hated hurting you."

His stance relaxed slightly and he shook his head. "I should have handled that better than I did. Asleena…I can't say I'm sorry for hating Loghain. I probably will for a long time after everything that's happened. But I shouldn't have tried forcing you to kill him like I did. I know that was uncalled for. We could have asked for a recess to discuss it, right?"

"Why didn't I think of that?" she whispered. "I was in _charge._ Why didn't I think of that?"

"Maybe you were too busy being yelled at?" Alistair suggested with a wry smile. He glanced aside. "I didn't know then why Grey Wardens were necessary for killing the archdemon," he went on, more quietly, then shrugged. "Even now I don't know if that knowledge would have changed how I acted. I can't forgive what Loghain did. It felt like he took…everything from me. Even you, in the end…and then I was alone for so long."

"I'm sorry…"

He nodded. "Me too."

They stood there in silence, she still on the threshold of her room, he in the empty corridor beyond.

"Zevran…cares for you, you know," Alistair said, his manner as though he was dipping toes into potentially scalding water. "He doesn't let on, but when he talked me into putting things right with you he was very…emphatic."

"I care for him too," Asleena replied honestly, if quietly. "He's been a very good friend during times I needed one. He didn't have to come with me to the Free Marches, and he didn't have to talk you into…"

Alistair nodded when she trailed off, but didn't speak. It was…strange, looking at his attentive expression. Something in it almost reminded her of Zevran at that moment. Asking for nothing…expecting nothing…perhaps even believing he _deserved _nothing.

Recognising that…hurt.

"But I love you," Asleena told Alistair, forcing herself to continue. "Zev knows this. He always did. I don't think you'd even be here otherwise.

"I want to try and work things out with you, Alistair. If you think we can. We…seem to be doing all right so far," she finished with a hopeful smile.

"We do, don't we?" he agreed, like he was just coming to the same realisation.

"We could keep talking...sitting down." She tilted her head backwards.

"In your room?" Alistair's ears went pink. "I don't…I mean, I've never been in a lady's bedroom before. Are you sure? You don't need a chaperone, or something?"

Asleena felt a smile tug her lips. Taking one of his hands in both of hers, she pulled him gently across the threshold.

"I'm sure."

* * *

Unseen by either Warden, Zevran stood perfectly still in a shadow down the hall. One hand rested on Ferrix's collar to keep the mabari from returning to his mistress, but the animal sat quietly by his side and almost as motionless. The elf waited, watching as Asleena led Alistair into her bedchamber. He heard the door close behind them.

An ever-ready treat slipped into the assassin's hand, offered to the warhound. "Good dog," he murmured. "Try not to disturb them."

Ferrix wagged his tail a couple of times before padding quietly up the hall. He stopped outside Asleena's door then lay down, his head lowered to his outstretched forepaws.

Zevran headed in a different direction, eventually pushing through a door to step outside. He walked beyond the pool of torchlight to the ramparts, glancing up and around as he did. A brisk wind was blowing from the north off the Waking Sea, and the night sky was very clear. Seeing no one about, he crossed his arms atop a stone merlon to wait and gazed into the black streets of Highever stretching away below.

After a moment he reached beneath his leathers to the inside of his shirt, pulling out the earring and letting it slip into the hollow of his palm. Shielded from the fire of the torches, moon- and starlight alone glinted off the circle of gold and facetted jewels.

"Long way down," the voice of Xai Merras noted softly.

The grey-clad master assassin had appeared seemingly without noise, his passage aided by the sounds the wind made as it whistled through gaps in the stone walls. He stood close enough to Zevran that either man could potentially strike and hit with a drawn blade, but not so close that they were right next to each other.

Xai glanced over the edge.

"The first one, you let die," he mused. "The second one, you let go. No need to look at me like that, Arainai. Your behaviour in Markham alone made it obvious. You could have tried fleeing the city, but instead you put your life in Asleena's hands…just as Rinna's was once in yours."

The fingers of Zevran's right hand twitched, a movement he covered by closing them over the earring. He didn't like hearing the name of either woman from Xai's mouth. Come to think of it, he didn't like hearing _anything_ from Xai's mouth.

"Yet no matter how much you have changed from that arrogant, self-absorbed assassin," the Warden recruit continued, "you still end up with nothing to show for it."

This time Zevran's lips quirked. He chuckled softly. "Compared to what, Xai Merras? To you?"

The other man smiled. "I am a Grey Warden; you are a renegade Crow with his wings clipped. Those who see me in the streets will think me a warrior of legend; you remain a fugitive elf of dubious character, without even an Alienage to call his home. I have brothers, sisters, a family; you have…no one.

"You are still nothing, Zevran."

Zevran traced a silent finger along the embroidery on the back of one of his Dalish gloves, but didn't reply.

"Who would miss you?" Xai asked as he looked thoughtfully at the darkened rooftops and streets beneath them.

"Still playing your little game, and still thinking like a Crow…Master Xai," Zevran said, using the honorific the man no longer had a right to. "Allow me to save you some time. I came up here to wait for some friends to join me, not to throw myself from the battlements in a dramatic suicide bid."

"Friends?" Xai echoed, amusement tinging his voice. "Tell me, Zevran...do these 'friends' know you as I do?"

"You do not know me, Xai Merras, and neither do the Crows. It may take some time for you to get used to," he went on in a more conversational tone, even smiling a little, "but your new family, as you call it, calculates a person's worth quite differently than the guild does."

A dark shape swooped out of the night, feathered wings cuffing Xai across the back of the head even as the assassin ducked. He had one sword out and a hand on the other's hilt when the hawk reached the rooftop above the torch-flanked door and perched there, pinions half-furled, fierce eyes reflecting fire and a threatening hiss issuing from the curved beak.

Zevran caught the flicker of surprise and confusion in Xai's face. Highever boasted no mews, and even if it had there was still the fact that hawks were not typically flown at night—let alone within the grounds of a castle.

The hawk dropped from its position in a smooth swoop, coming up again halfway between door and assassins and making the transition from bird to elven woman so seamlessly that Dalish robes and black hair still flared in the wind, winglike, before settling.

"Sister," Xai said, managing to keep astonishment from his voice.

Sindel's glare was eloquent. "You have a distorted view of family, shemlen. It will take more than shared blood for me to regard you as kin." Her gaze shifted briefly to his drawn sword, then she turned her back on him and strode to the door.

"You sealed it?" Zevran murmured when Sindel didn't open the portal straight away, but bent her attention to something jarring it closed.

Xai sheathed his blade and shrugged. "I prefer not to be interrupted when I'm enjoying myself. Nothing personal."

Galahan came through a moment later, bow unshouldered. His eyes fixed on the assassins as Sindel spoke to him, her words lost beneath the wind, then the two Dalish approached.

"And this is where I take my leave," Xai murmured, watching the hunter with something close to caution. He strode for the door, and Zevran couldn't hear if he made any sort of reply when Galahan nodded and said, "Brother," as they passed one another.

"Are you all right?" Sindel asked Zevran when she and Galahan reached him.

"Indeed I am. Your arrival was most timely, my dear."

"And…the other thing?" she asked, more gently.

Zevran shrugged. His instincts wanted him to come up with some distracting comment or joke, but he didn't have the heart to think of one and the Dalish hadn't come here to deal with evasive manoeuvres. Meeting here had been Galahan's idea so that, hopefully, no one would have to endure the night on his own.

"I knew it was what she wanted," the assassin said finally, feeling the earring that was nestled in his hand, unclaimed…still free. "It is done."

It did not exactly answer the former Keeper's question, but she did not push for a more specific response and simply gave a quiet nod.

"What of tomorrow?" Galahan asked then. "Do you still wish to go ahead with that plan of yours? Do you still want our help?"

Zevran thought for a moment, glancing up at the stars, then smiled. "Yes…that is, if you are still willing?" They both nodded, drawing closer to better hear him over the wind. "Very well, then. First of all, one of you will need to deliver a message to Asleena, preferably while it is still daylight.

"If she is willing to tear herself away from Alistair for an hour or two, tell her…I still wish to give her a gift." With a flick of his fingers, he spun the earring free with a soft _shing_ and caught it, then tucked it back beneath his armour.

His smile widened to a grin. "And tell her I would be most pleased if she would do me the honour of wearing leather."


	44. Here I Am

There was no fanfare.

The Chant of Light did not echo from the four corners of Thedas, nor did the Black City suddenly sparkle with gold again.

Sometimes things ended with an explosion of light and the cheers of armies…sometimes they finished peacefully, quietly, with only a few knowing or appreciating that even though the fate of the world had not hung in the balance, hearts had still been weighed and sacrifices made.

Fate had no care for what people deserved. If she did, then good men would not become wandering vagabonds, and murderers would not become heroes.

Asleena lay in the curve of Alistair's body, wakeful but not restless as the light which preceded dawn touched the windows and walls of Highever. She toyed idly with one of her lover's large callused hands while her mind continued to wander the myriad paths of the future.

They had already identified difficulties to overcome. It would take time before he felt comfortable calling himself a Grey Warden again, or even Ferelden, for he was understandably worried he'd be scorned after leaving on the brink of war and pressing for the execution of a man who was now, no matter what he might have deserved, a legend. Asleena had influence, but she couldn't stop people from whispering. She had agreed to Alistair's point, if reluctantly, that one day it might mean leaving Ferelden. Even if he did show he could bear up against slurs and derision, would it be fair to expect him to just so she could stay in her homeland?

Loghain would be remembered for his final sacrifice, his heroic deeds eclipsing the evil he'd done, but Alistair bore the brand of a pariah even though he'd been with Asleena since Ostagar and done nothing much worse than speak in anger and walk away…

His hand closed around hers suddenly, fingers lacing together. She'd thought he was still asleep.

"Something on your mind?" he asked quietly, his breath warm against her neck.

"Just wondering what would happen if we all got the futures we deserved." She chuckled. "Silly though…none of us would be here if that sort of thing happened. My parents would still be alive, you'd have been raised by your father as a prince. Zev never would have lost his mother or grown up where he did…"

Alistair's other arm was already wrapped around her, but his embrace drew her a reassuring fraction closer. "You're worried about him."

She sighed, grateful he hadn't taken exception to her mentioning the Antivan while they were in bed together, and nodded. "Yes. I'm worried this…" her fingers curled more tightly with his, "…means he'll leave. I'd understand. I would. But…" She swallowed against the hitch in her voice and turned her head, trying and see Alistair's face in the gloom. "Did he say anything? About his intentions?"

"Not for the future. I got the feeling he meant to leave that up to you."

"I just wish I could give him…something."

"Should I be worried?" he asked teasingly, smiling, and she couldn't resist the sudden impulse to squirm around and take those curving lips with her own.

"No," she whispered at length, running her fingers down his neck and across one muscled shoulder. She paused when her eyes found the slender chain of his necklace, regarding it thoughtfully for a second before following it to the leather pouch. "What's this?"

"My…mother's amulet. There was a little…accident."

"What happened?"

"I sort of broke it." Alistair cleared his throat and mumbled: "Metaphorically."

She gave him a very long look. "You've been doing a few things 'metaphorically' recently."

"Well, you know, I've been away for a while…I've probably picked up all _sorts _of bad habits. Not changing my socks regularly. Eating my breakfast straight out of the bowl without using a spoon. Walking around camp without pants on."

"Really?" She raised a brow and he grinned.

"Maayyyyybe. There wasn't anyone else around to tell me not to…"

"_I _never would have told you not to."

"That's because you, my love, are biased," he said, claiming another kiss.

She rolled the pouch in one hand. "Do you want my help putting it together again?"

He nodded and said, more seriously than she'd expected: "Yes. If you don't mind, that is."

There was a short silence as he gathered her closer and she nestled her head against his chest, enjoying the simple warmth of being _held _and listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"Can I ask you something?" she said. "If Zevran did happen to stay in Highever…would you mind? Would it make you uncomfortable?"

"You're asking me?" he replied with a little surprise.

"I think it's…fair to ask you." She tried to burrow closer. "I should get used to it, seeking your opinion first before I just _decide_ things that might affect you."

He was quiet for a moment, smoothing her dark hair with one hand. "Thank you," he said at last. "And no, I wouldn't mind. I know he's your friend, and I think we sort of bonded on the way back to Ferelden. You know, as men do."

Asleena's Zevran-influenced imagination presented her with several possible scenarios. "Bonded?" she managed, weakly.

"Sure. We were completely alone for all that time, after all, no company but each other. Only natural."

"Only natural…that you'd _bond?"_

"I know we couldn't exactly go fishing, or go cheer a backstreet game of foot-and-ball out in the middle of nowhere, but he _did _teach me how to ride." He paused. "Why are you giggling?"

"No reason." She grinned to herself. "So…what else did the two men get up to while _bonding_?"

"He gave me a tattoo." Alistair smirked when she pulled back to gape at him. "On my back. Of a nug wearing a bow."

Asleena gave him a dangerous smile. "You, _ser_, are lying to me."

"Only about the nug part."

"Roll over!" she ordered, determined to see _exactly _how much damage Zevran had inked into Alistair's skin, but when he did as she bade it was to pin her beneath him. "_Alistair!"_

"Ye-esss?" he teased, brushing his lips against her neck, then lower as she squirmed ineffectually.

"You'll have to show me eventually!"

His face returned into view, eyes watching her miniscule reactions as he released one of her wrists to glide knowing fingers up her arm to the shoulder, down her side and back up over her body, leaving a shiver of longing in its wake.

"Eventually?" he queried in a husky voice.

"Eventually," she repeated, her voice also going softer beneath his familiar gaze and warm weight. Her freed hand reached for him. "But not…just…yet…"

* * *

A brisk walk southeast from Highever's gates landed one on the edge of the Bannorn. There was a tree there. It wasn't a particularly significant tree, nor that interesting to look at, but it provided a nice spot of shade from the noon sun for the blond Antivan lounging amidst its roots.

Zevran cut a wedge of apple with his dagger and glanced up at an overhanging bough, lifting the morsel towards the dark-feathered hawk perched there.

"Hungry? No?" He grinned and slipped the piece of fruit into his mouth, savouring the tart juice and the crunch as his teeth bit down. "It occurs to me," he said after swallowing, "I have never seen your other form. Did you know there is a delightfully naughty song about men who hunt black hares?"

The hawk's head tilted to one side. Birds couldn't do facial expressions very well, but some gestures were universal. Her wings spread and she flapped down to earth, then _changed_ when she touched ground. The hare that took the hawk's place was similarly coloured, not quite black but with shadings of deep, luxuriant brown on her fur. She stood up on her hind legs, nose twitching in Zevran's direction.

He cut another slice of apple and held it out, mindful of the blade. "I seem to recall complimenting your ears once before and being told not to look at them," he remarked as she took the piece of fruit in her mouth and munched at it. "Alas, it is a bit hard to ignore such finely furred appendages when they are displayed so proudly. Do forgive me."

Sindel ignored him.

Zevran watched her idly. There was something about fuzzy animals that made most people do strange things, like speak two octaves higher than normal and devolve their vocabularies to nonsensical syllables. Zevran had never thought himself one of 'them', but admitted he was a little tempted to reach out and stroke those long ears. He restrained himself on the basis that he wasn't really looking at an animal, and it—_she _was married to a man with very good aim.

He'd never admit it to anyone, and it was shocking enough that he could admit it to himself, but he envied them.

He envied all of them, to be both free and willingly bound, vulnerable to the other yet strengthened by them. Once he had not understood these concepts properly…they had frightened him. Now…

"Zevran?" a familiar female voice called from some distance off.

Coming back to himself, he tossed the half-eaten apple atop the small pile by the tree and got up, dusting off the backside of his armour and running a careful hand over his hair. A quick glance for Sindel revealed nothing—she had taken Asleena's voice as her cue to fetch his gift from where Galahan waited.

Zevran stepped out from behind the tree, catching Asleena's attention from across the field. "Here I am!"

"You gave him a tattoo!" Asleena shouted back in mock indignation, starting towards him.

Zevran cupped his hands to his mouth, grinning. "It was his idea! Are you telling me you didn't like it?"

"Frankly, I'm impressed it wasn't a little more risqué with _you _holding the needle."

"Believe me, my dear, I suggested a few designs that would have been sure to bring a blush to your cheeks, but Alistair was quite adamant about what he wanted. Did all my hard work not meet with your approval? I may cry."

She lowered her head as she shook it, not quite hiding her smile as she closed the remaining distance between them so she wouldn't have to yell her answer. "It looked great, Zev. I had no idea you were such an artist."

Alistair had requested a rose in bloom across one shoulder blade, complete with stem and thorns. Despite the ex-Templar's recalcitrance to give a serious explanation for his choice, Zevran had easily guessed the reasons behind the slightly gushy sentiment.

The only thing he couldn't figure out was which of the two of them was the more hopeless man—Alistair for permanently marking himself for a woman who might not have taken him back, or Zevran for taking such pains perfecting the details of the design in case she _would_.

"That? A trifle," he said airily, downplaying his pleasure at the praise. "Maybe next time it will be something larger, more _striking_. Or perhaps something for yourself? You mentioned a desire for ink of your own, no?"

"Does this mean you're staying in Highever?" she asked, a little carefully, as though scared of putting a foot wrong all of a sudden.

Zevran had thought about this a great deal the previous night, even spoken of it a little with Galahan and Sindel, weighing up both what he wanted from the situation and what would be wise. He had come to the conclusion that he did not _wish_ to leave…not immediately, at least. The number of people he truly trusted in life, and who trusted him, were few…and currently they all lived right here. The thought of leaving brought him no pleasure, and knowing a sudden departure would wound the woman standing before him made the very concept undesirable.

He had no illusions that seeing her with Alistair again might be difficult, but he could endure it for a time. He was not ready to go just yet, he did not even know where he wanted to fly, but he was confident he would figure it out and much preferred to remain in good company while doing so.

"If I would be welcomed, I would be pleased to stay," he said aloud. Deciding to voice practical reasons rather than personal, he added, "The Crows will eventually come after me, however. I may put people at risk by remaining."

"You're not the only one the Crows are after, Zev," she reminded him. "We could look out for each other, just like before. And yes…" She smiled. "You would be very welcome."

Seeing the elven form of Sindel appear in the distance behind Asleena with his gift, Zevran smiled and said, "Close your eyes. I want this to be a surprise."

The Warden lifted a brow but did as requested. "You don't have to give me anything, you know. You already _have_."

"We had this discussion once before, no? I wish to give you something—a token of friendship. Indulge me."

"So…how long do I keep my eyes shut?"

"Patience! Let us talk a bit first." He allowed himself a broad smirk, projecting it into his voice as he asked, "Did Alistair happen to use any of the highly pleasurable techniques I told him of when he was making up with you?"

Her eyes flashed wide open. "_You_—"

"Closed!" he admonished cheerfully.

They shut tight. "—talked about _sex _with Alistair?"

"My dear, I talk about sex with everyone."

"You talked about sex with _me _with Alistair?"

"Is this a bad thing? You deserve all the fun he can give you, no?"

She blushed a fascinating shade of pink. "He does very well _without_ advice, thank you!"

"But he could do _better_," Zevran pointed out slyly. "If you think your time with him is enjoyable _now_, just imagine…"

"Maker's breath…Wait." Even with her eyes closed, her expression became dangerous. "Did _he _talk about it?"

The Antivan laughed. "Fear not, Asleena. I took pity on him after my first few attempts to discuss such topics, as he kept falling off his horse. Something to do with his fingers being in his ears and singing at the top of his lungs, I imagine."

"Well, good. I mean…not that he fell off his horse." She sighed then and looked regretful. "I had to leave ours in Ostwick, you know. The captain of our ship wouldn't transport them."

"They were serviceable enough animals, I suppose," Zevran said in a deliberately offhand tone. He gestured at the approaching Sindel to stop a short distance away, then he picked up two apples.

"Well, yes," Asleena was agreeing, "but I don't care how good the horses themselves were. Just _riding_. Of all the time we spent in the Free Marches together, that was the most fun." Now she was smiling, still with her eyes closed. "I'll miss that."

Zevran was glad she couldn't see his grin. "Turn around, my Grey Warden," he instructed, "then hold out your hand, palm up."

She did so, and he placed an apple in her grasp. "Is this it?" she asked as her gloved fingers closed around the fruit.

"Remain as you are," he said, backing away to where Sindel waited. The Dalish elf smiled at him when she passed her charges over and moved swiftly away before disappearing into the grass.

"Now," Zevran said to Asleena, "you may look."

She did so—first at the apple in her hand, and her perplexed expression almost made him laugh. But then her eyes turned to him for an explanation and widened when she saw the horses.

"This magnificent creature," Zevran said, indicating the larger dappled grey stallion, "is an Orlesian charger with bloodlines as grand as any purebred mabari—or so his previous owner claimed. He is a warhorse, Asleena, and if you wish I can teach you some of the commands he responds to so you may ride into battle, churning darkspawn to pulp beneath his hooves and your sword both." He grinned and held the reins to her. "Or we can simply begin by riding, if you miss it so."

"Blessed Andraste," she whispered, fixating on the animal as he arched his proud head to eat the apple from her hand. "Zev, he's gorgeous. Thank you." She glanced over at him with a wide smile. "So _this _is why you asked me to wear leather?"

"In part," Zevran admitted. He climbed into the saddle of his own horse, one of the animals he'd picked up in Starkhaven. "Shall we?"

"Wait, I had something for you too." She put a hand to the back of her neck and undid the clasp of her necklace, the one she'd picked up in the Gauntlet that protected Andraste's Ashes. Zevran had seen her toy with it on several occasions, or simply gazing at it. He'd never been able to fathom why. Whenever he'd gotten a good look at it he'd only seen an amulet with a curiously archaic religious symbol upon the face.

"A Chantry amulet?" he said when she reached up to pass it to him. "How…nice."

"It's more than that," she said. "I'm not giving it to you, though…it's more what I hope it will show you.

"I got it from the…the ghost of my father, I suppose. At the beginning of the Gauntlet there was a Guardian who asked each of us, me, Alistair, Leliana and Wynne, personal questions about ourselves. For Alistair it was if he regretted not being on the field at Ostagar to take the blow that killed Duncan. For me it was if I believed I'd failed my parents for leaving them to the mercy of Howe's soldiers. I told him yes."

Zevran shook his head impatiently, very glad all of a sudden that he had been left in camp for that part of the adventure. "It is pointless to—"

"I know," she interrupted. "Now. Back then I was still beating myself up about it. Anyway, later in the Gauntlet, an apparition of Father appeared and gave me that amulet. He said he loved me and he forgave me and I had to move on past my regrets."

"Good advice, Asleena. Self-flagellation is a waste of energy."

She nodded. "So I was thinking. Do you remember one of the nights in the Wildervale we spoke of seeking forgiveness? And you said you would never be able to?"

"I…yes. I do."

"I know the past can't be changed," she said. "And I know you want to move forward. I'm hoping the reflection in the amulet's reverse might help."

"You have already done much to help, my friend," he said, meaning it, but he glanced down at the amulet anyway. He could humour her. How bad could it be? A magic trick that'd show him something motivational or encouraging, no doubt.

He flipped it over with his thumb, and speech deserted him.

Asleena was busying herself settling into the saddle of her new horse, keeping a tactful silence as Zevran recovered. He turned the amulet over again, twice, blinked until the landscape around him was no longer so blurred, and breathed deeply.

"Is it real?" he asked finally, edging his horse nearer to hers and returning the necklace.

She fastened it around her neck again, tucking it into her vest, shrugging a little as she met his eyes. "I believe it's real."

"Then that is enough…for me to believe the same."

Following her as she turned her charger's head to face the Bannorn, he pondered how luck had favoured him. Free of the Crows, the chance of a new life spread out before him, a guest in the home of one of the Wardens he had been sent to assassinate, a woman who might not love him as he wished but cared for him all the same…more than he deserved, and more than anyone else ever had.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"I am thinking…" Zevran pointed directly ahead of them. "I fancy riding that way. Fast and hard. I always did approve of going fast. And the harder the better, as they say."

"As _who _says?" she countered, and he countered her smirk with a salacious grin.

"Everybody, in my experience." He patted the neck of his steed and added, "I should warn you, Asleena…if you don't manage to keep up I may have to roam further afield to find someone who _can_."

"That's fair…but you can't give them my horse."

"I am hoping they might accept something more personal," Zevran said. "But…they will have a hard act to follow in order to impress me, I think."

She smiled at him. "Well I don't think you'll have any trouble impressing _them_. Scoff all you like, but you're a good man, Zev, and a true friend. You'll find happiness and love, I hope."

It was difficult to admit, harder still to answer, but he did. "I also…hope this." He cleared his throat, called forth a grin and gestured. "But for now, here we are. Good strong horses beneath us and a very inviting stretch of grassland in front. Remember…_fast_."

"What happened to hard?"

"Perhaps I should leave that part to Alistair," the Antivan replied with a wicked smirk, and kicked his horse into a run. "But if he ever has trouble in that department," he shouted back, "he can always come to me for more advice!"

Zevran charged ahead over the Bannorn, some part of him imagining he left the past breathing dust as he rode. When he had left Antiva he had not known what he was looking for. _Death_, he'd thought at the time, but that hadn't been it. Not really. Perhaps he had found it now thanks to Asleena…or perhaps she had just given him the chance to begin a new search, unshackled by his old life.

The promise of a future beckoned, and Zevran Arainai intended to meet it.

* * *

**_Author's Final Notes…_**

When I started writing _The Hunt_, I was an unashamed Swooper. I had not romanced Zevran all the way through. He was picked as Asleena's travelling companion (along with Ferrix, real name Phoenix after my RL pooch ;)) because, yes, he is the only party member who offers to stay on with you after the end of the game in the setting I used, and I wanted to run with that because I'm a stickler for consistency. Besides a vague idea for the ending of the tale I did not have much planned at all...I wrote as the inspiration came, and more and more it became a story about Zevran.

During the course of this fan fiction I have been accused by a number of people of converting them to Team Zev, or at least making them see our beloved Antivan Crow in a new light...one that is sometimes hard to notice unless you _do_ romance him, listen to all his dialogue and try to understand his character. The more I studied and tried to write from his point of view, the more I realised I might be converting myself. At times it became pretty hard not to just say 'Screw it', and have the assassin and Warden go off to some private corner for some steamy lovin' (which is when I went to have a nice walk or lie down...), but I always wanted to hold true to the ending I had planned, and hold true to the hearts of the characters. Alistair had Asleena all along, and much as it made me sad not to give Zev the proverbial happy ending everyone (including me) had come to wish for him, this woman was not to be his.

In the end, _The Hunt_ was as much about Asleena's search for Alistair and reconciliation as it was about Zevran's quest for some kind of personal redemption. For him, this story was a stepping stone…and let it not be said that Zev's efforts are without reward. For those who were hoping for a *happy* happy ending for Zev, I have a sequel planned just for him. ;) This is why you will not get any alternate endings for this particular fan fiction. Hope that's ok. ;)

Thank you very much for joining me on this adventure, and I hope you will consider coming along on the next one!

Shadow of Light

aka Laura Campbell

* * *

**~Acknowledgements~**

_Bioware _– for creating the ridiculously awesome game that is Dragon Age: Origins. Please hire me. ;)

_Bioware Social Network_ – for giving me a place to pimp my writing

_Fanfiction Net_ – for giving everyone a place to share their stories…even if formatting does screw up once in a while.

_PC Powerplay _– for their interest in _The Hunt_ and the interview in issue #181!

_The DA:O Wiki_ – for being a font of knowledge

_Various Youtube Contributors_ – for when I needed to cheat and look up game scenes on the fly

_Nescafe _– for the estimated 172 cups of instant coffee drunk during the course of this fic. Probably more if I count the days I stared at a blank screen and went '…'

_Thins_ – makers of the world's tastiest potato chips. Original flavour ftw.

_The (old) Dragon Press_ – first place I ever publicly posted fan fiction. I remain hooked.

Bawpie – for being my sole reviewer for the first few chapters. Thank you :) Hope my writing has improved since the days of Ultima.

Tarante11a –for our numerous Zev-based and encouragement-oriented PMs :)

Klarabella – for giving me a cool idea for aforementioned sequel… :)

Lehni – for useful info on the elven language!

Hecthorn – for prompting a return to the mining village. :)

Hekateras – for constructive criticism! ;)

Meghann O'Neill – writer of _PC Powerplay_'s Generation XX column :)

Aimo – Dragon Age artist. Check out my Profile for a link to her DeviantArt site and a piece she drew for this fic!

Also… tevikolady, Tanith Aeyrs, Drax_Lyonsbane, frostajulie, Twerq, Dennis Carpenter, MarcusDeVarro, lala_lover, Kerridan Kaiba, Kulkodar, PetrosS, AdorableAnarchist, TheMadCat, Originsmaster, Rhyanekat, tallon, Sialater, ReubenLiew, Phoenix Swordsinger, Jules, Taiyama, master-fluff, mochen, Freckles, Treason, Sisimka, Miliat, K9miles, moemie, Sandtigress, Minaleth, bloodtallow, Palentor, leeboi, Erynnar, Tausret, Tasmen, senorfuzzylips, Saerwen, Miri, Suemoo, viento, Wicked_Loki, Arassi, Firky, msaligned, Questorion, Hubaba and thepringle for your words of encouragement during the writing of this story, as well as everyone else who was following on BSN!

And on Fanfiction Net…well, you've all been awesome. Ridiculously so. ;) Thanks for all the comments and for reading! It's been fantastic.

* * *

**~Teaser For The Sequel~**

"Hey! Hey, you! Wait!"

Zevran glanced back, keeping a hand near his belt dagger in case this was some kind of distraction. Even though he'd returned to the city as a recognised companion of the Hero of Ferelden, wandering alone in Denerim could present all sorts of wonderful opportunities for those who still wanted him dead.

The woman who'd called and was chasing after him was plainly dressed, not armed in any obvious way, and elven. She was pretty of face and brown of eye, her hair fiery red and cut short above the shoulder. Normally Zevran would have paused to admire more than a woman's face and hair, but he realised he'd seen her before.

"You're one of the ones who was with the Grey Wardens, aren't you?" the woman demanded, slightly breathless after her run. "I remember seeing you in the Alienage. You went against the slavers and fought during the siege."

"Indeed I did," Zevran agreed, examining her more closely. "Zevran Arainai at your service. And you, I believe, are that feisty minx who was shouting at the Tevinter slavers and defending the Alienage against darkspawn. Shianni, unless I am greatly mistaken." He gave her one of his winning smiles. "I never forget a face, especially a beautiful one such as yours."

"People say you were an assassin," Shianni said, completely ignoring the compliment.

"I still am, my dear," Zevran said, cocking his head slightly and raising a brow. "Were you looking to hire one, perchance?"

She hesitated, glancing around the street and the numerous bystanders, then nodded.

"Then perhaps we should retire to more suitable surrounds for discussing business."

"I can't afford to pay much," she muttered quietly. "I was hoping, we both being elves, you'd do it out of a sense of kinship."

Zevran chuckled and took a step back, shaking his head. "My dear, how would I make my way in the world if I did favours for every elf who asked, lovely though they may be?"

"During the Blight he kidnapped several women from the Alienage, who were raped by him and his…_friends_," Shianni whispered fiercely, almost spitting.

"Excuse me?"

"The man I want you to kill. He's a rapist. The human courts don't care…it's only a knife-ear's word against that of nobles, and I'm the only one left who's willing to speak. The other women are dead since the siege or carted off to Tevinter, like my cousin."

Zevran stared off at a distant building so he wouldn't be forced to look at the angry light in her eyes. Growing up in a whorehouse and then amongst assassins had familiarised him with a great number of unsavoury appetites possessed by the races of Thedas, and experience had taught him very early in life that it was usually wise to look the other way when something was happening he found distasteful. It wasn't an assassin's job to ask _why _a mark was wanted dead, though admittedly he'd liked to believe in the past that the people he'd killed had mostly deserved their fates.

Sticking one's neck out only led to trouble, and charity was for heroes. He was an assassin, not a crusader for the weak.

Still…the world would not miss one abusive human. And it would not hurt to have a favour to call upon if he ever needed to lay low in Denerim. Yes. A place to stay in case of an emergency would be a fair price, and then no one could say he was working gratis out of anything foolish like pity or a sense of justice.

"Who is this man you want dead?" he asked, expecting it to be some minor lordling who would prove ridiculously easy to cut the throat of and whom nobody would even care had turned up dead, including his relatives.

"The Arl of Denerim," Shianni said, still speaking as quietly as she could, though her voice was thick with hatred. "Arl Vaughan."

* * *

_You can read the rest of the sequel (such as it currently is) by checking out my profile and navigating to _Dragon Age: The Kill. 

_Take it easy, and may you always be inspired. :)  
_


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